


It's the End of the World as We Know it (and I Feel Fine)

by mtothedestiel



Series: Space Oddity [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, BAMF Jody, Big Brother Dean, Brothers, Comedy, Douglas Adams, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, IN SPACE!, M/M, Marriage, Nonbinary Character, Outer Space, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Romance, Space Husbands, Trueform, cas identifies as male but in his natural state he is non-gendered, crack if you don't know douglas adam's style, hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtothedestiel/pseuds/mtothedestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy AU.  Sam Winchester is living a happy, ordinary life on Earth.  Except now his friend Castiel is saying he’s an alien, and the world is about to be demolished to make room for an intergalactic highway.  Sam has no choice but to believe him, especially once Castiel promises to reunite him with his long lost brother: Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *kkksssss* Good Evening, ladies, gentlemen, and non-binaries. Welcome aboard and thank you for flying air Destiel *kkssss* We’ve got a good fic ahead of us…should clock in at about 30k or so *kkssss* Forecast seems to indicate a pleasant read, with fluff, space friendships, and only minor turbulence *kssss* postings should be once a week…we’re not seeing any delays on the schedule so everything should be right on time *kkkssss* Comments are appreciated and thanks again for choosing mtothedestiel for your destiel experience *kkkkkkksssssssssss*

Sam Winchester was about to have the worst day of his life.  He should have known, seeing as it was a Tuesday.  Sam had never quite gotten the hang of Tuesdays.  Really, if he’d stopped to think it over, he could have simply stayed in bed that day, where at least the end of the world would have been somewhat more comfortable. 

The real piece of dramatic irony here was that Sam thought he was having a _good_ day.  Sam was a lawyer, fresh out of school and not yet pickled by cynicism, his zest for life only tempered by a tragic, but in terms of his development mostly atraumatic, childhood.  This Tuesday in particular, Sam had just finished filing a large stack of paperwork, he was wearing his most comfortable and flattering suit, and later that night he was going on a dinner date with Jessica from legal aide, whom he’d been meaning to ask out for some time, and had only just worked up the nerve last week.  Yes, all seemed right with Sam Winchester’s world.  Except, of course, for the unknown fact that in about an hour’s time it was going to be demolished.

This might be a good time to talk about Castiel.

Castiel appeared to be a human male of slightly above average height and thoroughly above average good looks.  _Appeared_ is a key word in that sentence, because in actuality Castiel Novak (which is a brutal Humanization of an otherwise mechanically unpronounceable surname) was an alien from a non-corporeal race of beings known as Seraphs (no-relation to the seraphs of Earth’s Judeo-Christian mythologies.  Even with all the diversity of language in the Universe, there are bound to be a few homonyms.)  Outside the boundaries of his chosen bodily form, Castiel resembled what a particularly close friend of his once called “the most kick-ass laser light show I have ever witnessed.”

Castiel’s humanoid manifestation was an exact carbon copy of one Jimmy Novak (no relation), an AM radio ad salesmen from Illinois.  Castiel had replicated his genetic code during his first visit to Earth, selecting him based upon his generally well-groomed appearance, which promised him general anonymity with the slightly eased passage through life enjoyed by those just on the right side of good-looking.   Jimmy had no idea that Castiel was borrowing his face, so to speak, and Castiel in his more secret moments had to admit that perhaps one good thing that had come of the Earth being destroyed was that Castiel no longer had to suffer the minor anxiety that accompanied the idea running into the man. 

What was a Seraph doing approximately 42 light-years away from his home star cluster?  In short: meditating.  The Seraph talent for processing information is well-known throughout the Universe, leading to their frequent employment in bureaucratic organizations and research facilities.  Castiel, more of a wandering soul than his brethren, still occasionally found himself wanting for a large pile of binary code to sort through and analyze, and thus for the last three month had relocated to Earth for a kind of working vacation.  He would have most likely left much sooner if not for two things: 1) the accounting practices of human law firms turned out to be fascinating in the depth and breadth of their underhandedness, and 2) about two weeks after his arrival, Castiel happened to run into one Sam Winchester.  The importance of the latter will make itself known in due time.   

Castiel became aware of the imminent destruction of the Earth two months and twenty-nine days into his assimilation into human culture (assimilation being a relative term, as Sam and his co-workers still thought of him as “that one strange guy in Accounting who wears a trench coat to work every day in Southern California”, but really they should all just be glad he hadn’t accidentally burned anybody’s eyes out).  This was somewhat alarming, as Castiel was currently located on Earth, but equally so because the Earth was the home planet of Sam Winchester, who was soon to be very important to a person whose happiness was Castiel’s number one priority.  Thus, Castiel determined that action needed to be taken.

Sam was returning from a very satisfying business lunch, his Greek chicken salad sitting pleasantly in his belly when his trajectory down the busy sidewalk was brutally interrupted by a collision with the by no means delicate person of Castiel Novak.  Distracted by a text from Jessica confirming their dinner plans, Sam would have found himself on his ass had Castiel not intervened with a deceptively strong but stabilizing grip on his bicep.  

“ _Shit_ -sorry, I wasn’t-” Sam apologized, before he caught the familiar, unnerving blue-eyed stare of one of his firm’s accountants, “Oh.  Castiel, right?  Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Sam Winchester,” Castiel greeted, waiting for Sam to regain his balance before removing his hand, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Why?” Sam asked, concern rising in his gut beside his lunch, “Is there a problem with the accounts?  Have you talked to one of the partners?”  Castiel waved him off, still looking agitated.  The current of pedestrian traffic swerved around them, people giving looks the two tall men standing stock still on the side walk.  Sam, prone to human self-consciousness, fidgeted under their stares, but Castiel seemed unperturbed.

“The accounts are fine,” Castiel assured him, “They are, in fact, excellent, and fascinating.  But they don’t matter.  I’ve been looking for _you._ ”

 “What?” Sam asked blankly, “Why?”  Castiel was a figure rarely seen out of the accounting offices, and still then hardly ever heard from.  He seemed nice enough, and super dedicated to his job, but basically the only reason Sam remembered him was because of his unusual name, and because occasionally, on his rare jaunt down to finances to drop off a file, he’d caught Castiel’s eye and seen that beyond the placid blue there was an otherworldly edge that was downright unsettling. 

“Because,” Castiel answered solemnly, “In about an hour the world is coming to an end, and you are too essential to be destroyed along with it.”   

Sam actually laughed.  “Yeah, alright,” he chuckled, “The end of the world?  Did Brady put you up to this?  Cause even for his standards, this is really-“

Castiel looked confused, then overly patient, like a teacher explaining something to a slow child. 

“You think this is a human prank,” Castiel stated.

“Well, yeah, Cas,” Sam said, “Sorry Brady roped you into this, but we’ve had this little inter-office war going, and-“

“I don’t know who Brady is,” Castiel interrupted him, “But I am not here at his behest, nor is this some kind of joke.  The obliteration of Earth is nearly upon us.”

“Alright, come on,” Sam insisted, a frown furrowing his brow, “Enough’s enough.”

“Clearly not,” Castiel disagreed, “You may not believe it, but Earth is going to be destroyed.  When my ship arrives I plan to take you with me-“

“Castiel-“

“- but until then, I suggest we imbibe copious amounts of alcohol, and wait for the inevitable blast wave.”

Sam was beginning to gather with some discomfort that Castiel was not in fact joking.  Being an extremely compassionate man (in the grand scheme of humanity, that is) he assumed Castiel was having some kind of episode, and offered to buy him a drink at the local bar.

_Fact: Seraphs have the highest alcohol tolerance of any species in the Galaxy.  The current drinking record is currently held by Anna of the planet Garrison, who in less than an hour absorbed forty two liters of Grace Vapor (the equivalent of 68 Jaeger bombs.)_

Castiel was rapidly knocking back a row of shots. 

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Sam suggested. 

“Do you remember your brother?” Castiel asked instead.  Sam froze, not literally obviously, but in the sense of a complete mental halt that arises when a co-worker whom you barely know brings up the older brother who was abducted in your infancy and never found.  The brother whose face haunts you to this day and whom you had made a particular effort not to mention in front of any of your professional friends. 

“How do you know about him?” Sam demanded.  Castiel took another shot.

“What if I suggested,” Castiel continued, “That Dean, your brother, was not kidnapped and tragically murdered as you and your family presumed, but was actually at the age of four abducted by aliens?”

“I would punch you in the face,” Sam replied honestly.  Castiel considered this as he sipped his final hit of bourbon. 

“Well, I _am_ suggesting it,” he declared at last, then, looking into the bottom of his shot glass, “I think I’m beginning to feel something.”

Sam punched Castiel in the face. 

Since it is well known to many people besides Sam that Castiel is not human, perhaps it is little surprise that he was uninjured, other than being knocked from his seat.  Needless to say, Sam found it quite confusing.

“ _Ow,_ ” Sam cried, cradling his sore fist, “What in the hell?”  Castiel rolled his eyes as he rolled nimbly back to his feet.

“’Hell’ is only a human concept,” Castiel informed him, with actual air quotes, “and it’s about to be obliterated along with the rest of Earth, so there’s no use bringing it up now.” 

“What _are_ you?”  Sam demanded, “How do you know anything about Dean?”

“I’m a Seraph, of the planet Eden,” Castiel declared, with more than a hint of pride, “Honorary co-Captain of the _Impala_ , your brother Dean’s starship.”  For a moment that unearthly edge to Castiel’s eyes, that unsettling glint that had gone unmentioned but for a few discomforted glances exchanged at the office, became dominant, eclipsing Castiel’s blue orbs with a wash of golden light that made Sam want to cover his gaze from a sensation not unlike looking to long at the sun.  Castiel smiled and blinked, and as quickly as the light had come it was gone, and Castiel was once again for all appearances an ordinary man. 

Sam stared at Castiel blankly.  Humans, it has been said, are not good at processing new information.  Even the ones that went to Stanford.

“Aliens?” Sam asked at last.

“Aliens,” Castiel confirmed.

“Aliens.”

“Yes,” Castiel said again, becoming a little concerned. 

“ _You_ are from outer space,” Sam repeated.

“I just said that,” Castiel agreed, “Though really you could argue that we’re all from space, if you wanted to wax philosophical.”

“And Dean’s alive.  And also in space?”

“Yes,” Castiel assured him, checking his watch, “Hopefully he will arrive soon to pick us up.”

“In his space ship.” 

“Technically she’s a starship,” Castiel corrected, “Just so you know Dean’s really sensitive about-“

“ _What is happening?”_ Sam shouted, hands twisting in his hair.  The other patrons were staring curiously at the strange man in the trench coat and his tall, yelling companion.  They were all going to be dead in a short time, so it didn’t really matter, but Castiel didn’t want their final moments of life to be stressful so he slipped the bartender a crisp one hundred dollar bill and asked him to furnish everyone with a very strong drink.

“I’m sorry about all the noise,” Castiel apologized before leading Sam back out into the California sun with a hand on his broad shoulder.

“Cas, wait, _stop_ ,” Sam insisted, “You have got to explain what’s going on.”

“It’s not complicated,” Castiel growled, catching more than one eye on the crowded sidewalk, “I’m not human.  Your brother is alive, and hopefully we’re going to meet him soon, because the Earth is about to be demolished to make room for an inter-galactic highway.  Do you own a trench coat?”

“A trench coat?” Sam repeated, swiftly losing contact with his higher brain functions, “We live in California!  Why the hell would I have a trench coat?!”

 _The trench coat, in actuality, has proven over the last several hundred years to be the most helpful and multi-functional tool in the space travelers arsenal.  Besides its obvious sheltering function, keeping its wearer protected equally from the blazing triple suns of Vesta and the bitter winds of the ice planet Hoff, the trench coat is also a highly versatile storage and camouflage unit.  It’s large pockets provide space for provisions, weaponry, and light reading material, while it’s innocuous but slightly sleazy reputation makes its wearer able to blend in to any social strata in the Universe, simply by flipping up their collar and looking shady, but not_ too _shady.  The excess mass, yet weather-proof nature of trench coat material also makes it an ideal tarp, tent, or, as the Seraph Castiel has come to prefer, a blanket under which to make slow and passionate love long into the wee hours of the morning._

“Humans,” Castiel muttered under his breath, growing agitated as he checked his watch.  Sam’s mind was reeling.  Castiel might as well have pulled out a magic wand and told him wizards were real for all he was able to process it.  Aliens.  Dean.  The human mind has the very undesirable tendency to freeze up when faced with a truly dire set of information, such as the reappearance of your long lost brother, the existence of life on other planets, and the imminent destruction of Earth.  It’s generally agreed upon that this programming error is a serious oversight and whoever created those humans really should just do a recall before someone gets hurt.  Castiel, who despite having spent more time with humans, on planet and off, than he ever could have predicted, was starting to lose patience.

“The world is coming to an end in less than two minutes,” Castiel insisted, “We need to leave.”

“I can’t,” Sam responded stupidly, “I have a date tonight.”

Castiel’s sure to be unintentionally humorous response was cut off when the blue California sky above them _rippled_.  From the cloudless atmosphere emerged a gargantuan fleet of spaceships, phasing out of hyperspace in a terrifying and, admittedly, beautiful wave of opalescent color.  The forms were awesome, perhaps in the sense that a kraken is considered awesome just before it crushes your ship with one snap of its mighty jaws.  Sam gaped as Castiel scowled.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked with a pointed glare.

“Yeah,” Sam squeaked, “Holy crap, yeah.  You were saying something about leaving?”

With a pneumatic hiss the ships contorted, revealing massive banks of speakers.  The dead silence was filled with high pitched feedback.  The first screams filtered up from the crowded streets.

“Now, now,” came a smarmy, crackling, voice, “That’s not a winning attitude!”

“Shit,” Castiel muttered under his breath.

“What?” Sam asked, eyes locked on the huge shimmering forms.

“That’s Dick Roman, CEO of the Leviathan,” Castiel informed him despondently, “Our chances of survival just dropped by thirty percent.”

“Oh.”

_Leviathans, even amid the infinite genetic possibilities of the ever expanding Universe, are truly despicable creatures.  Over thousands of years, the species has evolved to embody the two adjectives most reviled by sentient beings across the cosmos: bureaucratic and slimy.  Large, black, worm-looking beings, they decimate any of the chaos and catharsis that normally accompanies a primordial beast with contracts, protocols, and committees.  Even the drip of slime from their gaping, razor toothed maws is perfectly timed and symmetrical.  The Leviathan have finally found their niche in the increasingly corporate machinations of the Universe, where their intimidating presence, business savvy, and utter lack of scruples have made them ideal for dirty work.  They are efficient, disgusting, utterly without mercy, and excellent motivational speakers.  In other words: abominations._

“Your planet has been selected for demolition,” the voice, Dick Roman, Sam assumed, announced, “In order to make room for the Chuck Shurley Memorial Intergalactic Highway!  With its completion, the eighth and eleventh sectors of the Universe will finally be connected, bringing in a new age of progress and communication between interstellar peoples!  What a time to be alive!”

“What the hell?” Sam breathed, a sentiment echoed loudly by the approximately twenty million people living the in the greater Los Angeles area.

“I’m sorry,” the voice continued, “Any grievances were to be filed with your Galactic town Hall by 14500 G.C.E at the latest!  You know what they say: if you’re not a shark, you’re the tuna!  Please remain calm and await your imminent vaporization!”

The speakers withdrew to be replaced by massive hologram screens with a one minute countdown in neon green symbols.  With fifty-eight seconds left before the annihilation of Earth, Castiel began to rifle urgently through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”  Sam asked, one eye on the massive ships above and the other on the refuse that was tumbling out of Castiel’s coat.  There must have been receipts in at least five different languages, only one of which Sam could even say for sure was from Earth.                             

“Dean isn’t here yet,” Castiel muttered, “Which means we’ll have to improvise.”

With twenty-eight seconds until the end of the world, Castiel made a soft noise of triumph as he pulled a mess of wires vaguely formed into the shape of a hand, with what looked like a tiny calculator and a glass thumb attached.

“What’s that?” Sam asked as Castiel slipped the device over his hand like a bizarre glove.

“It was a gift,” Castiel informed him, pressing a complicated set of numbers into the keypad, “From a man I met on Betelgeuse 5.  It’s for hitchhiking.  Hopefully it still works, I’ve never used it.”

Sam hardly had time to protest before Castiel threw an arm around his middle and tugged him in with his inhuman strength.  The countdown on the enormous screens had reached the single digits when Castiel thrust his thumb into the sky.  The bizarre device on his hand lit up in a fluorescent tangle of color before a beam of light arced from the monstrous ships down to the ground and swallowed them up.

“Hold on tight!” Castiel shouted as Sam’s senses were overwhelmed by a wave of light and sound.  With a flash, the sidewalk vanished from beneath their feet, and with that, Sam Winchester left Earth, never to return. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Sam are off planet. But where is that, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the fun part where I post early because I am just so damn excited. Let me know what you think!

At first glance, Sam thought perhaps they had been transported into the storage closets of one of the surrounding office buildings.  The floor under his feet was plain concrete, the walls dull beige with glass doors leading down a perfectly ordinary hallway, complete with horrendously generic framed artwork for visual interest.  He and Castiel had appeared in the middle of a pile of neatly organized crates, which when cracked open by Castiel revealed folder after folder of paperwork, stapled and notated.  It wasn’t until Sam noted the look of alarm on Castiel’s face, not to mention the ‘windows’, which appeared to be reinforced iron with two-inch glass panes, that he realized they might, in fact, no longer be on solid ground.

“Where are we?” Sam whispered, noting the smudges of black slime on some of the crates that surrounded them, not to mention the sounds of office chatter from down the hall that sounded not unlike the gurgle of a cement mixer filled with grape jelly.

“We are onboard a Leviathan ship,” Castiel noted, “This could end badly.”

There was a flash of light from a small porthole to their left, and Sam ran in time to see shimmering clouds of debris float past the thick glass. 

“What is that stuff, Cas?” Sam asked, dread pooling in his gut.

Castiel looked briefly mournful, as sympathetic species are bound to in the face of genocide. 

“That is the remains of Earth,” Castiel informed him, “The Leviathan has completed their work.”

“That’s impossible,” Sam said flatly.  He searched for his home planet through the narrow lens of the porthole, but all he could see was the bizarre cloud of dust, lit by the tiny but pure light of the sun, unfettered by Earth’s atmosphere.  “You can’t just destroy a _planet_.”

“It has just been done,” Castiel repeated, “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“No,” Sam insisted, “We must be looking out the wrong side.  It _has_ to be there.”

Castiel allowed Sam to dart back and forth across the storage area, craning his neck desperately to catch sight of the planet that was no longer there.  Sam could feel his breath coming short.  He couldn’t find it.  There was nothing but the void.  The red prick of Mars hovered nearly unseeable, and between it and them there was nothing but the ashes of Earth and the abyss. 

“We have to go back,” Sam breathed, “Castiel, take us back!” A command this time.  He had to make the Seraph understand.  They couldn’t just let all those people die.  They had to go back and _do_ something.  Sam’s tie was suddenly choking around his neck; the air in the room was thin and black spots bloomed into Sam’s vision.

“Sam, Sam!” Castiel’s voice rose above Sam’s babbling, “You need to calm yourself.  Your heart rate is hitting dangerous levels.”

“We’re in _space_ ,” Sam gasped, “We’re on a _spaceship._   I can’t breathe-Earth is _gone_ \- _shit_ I’m gonna miss my date Cas I can’t _breathe-_ “  Castiel slapped a palm to Sam’s forehead, and with a flash not unlike a camera bulb, Sam Winchester popped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

Sam woke up face first on the concrete floor in a puddle of his own drool.  Despite Earthly traditions, the exchange of DNA material, such as saliva, with an alien host is considered a great act of trust, and therefore an extreme compliment from a visitor to one’s space ship.  Had Sam been on any other vessel than a Leviathan’s, his unconscious salivating would have been swiftly identified him as a person of very good manners.  Unfortunately for Sam, this was not the case, so he simply woke up groggy, sticky, and in a good deal of pain.

“Ugh, why does my head hurt?” Sam groaned, feeling a large lump at the back of his skull.

“You were hyperventilating, so I sedated you,” Castiel said, giving Sam a hand up, “The headache is from hitting your head when you passed out.  Apologies.”  The burst of static from a nearby intercom made Sam cringe, but his face lit up as he realized he could understand the voice distributing orders.

“Hey, that guy’s speaking English!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not quite.  I’ve synced your left brain hemisphere with the Galactic common tongue,” Castiel informed him, “It will make communication easier.”

“Put your hands in the air,” came a harsh order, “And reveal any non-corporeal limbs and weaponry.”

Sam realized with a plummeting stomach that while previously he and Castiel had been the only occupants of the storage room, during his impromptu nap they had been joined by no less than seven of what Sam guessed were Leviathan.  They looked like flatworms dipped in tar and never given time to dry, at least as tall as Sam, and several with a good six inches on him.  Sam felt the common mixture of fear, revulsion, and curiosity that most sentient beings encountered when faced with the disgusting fanged grin of the Leviathan.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Also,” Castiel added, “Your distress alerted the Leviathan to our presence.  We were surrounded while you were unconscious.”

“Yeah, thanks for the update,” Sam responded dryly.

After confiscating Sam’s cell phone and a shining silver blade from Castiel, the pair was frog-marched down the beige hallway through an especially shiny set of glass doors into what appeared to be some kind of executive office.  It was certainly a paradox for Sam, the dark (if unusually colored) wood furnishings and luxurious décor in contrast with the terrifying insect-like countenance of their captors.  Sam tried to keep his gag reflex in check despite the clammy slime holding him in place and the hot, rattling breath of the Leviathans’ mucus clogged throats.

“The vice-president of demolitions will speak with you now,” announced the worm keeping Sam’s arms firmly locked behind his back.  A door opened on the other end of the office, and a surprisingly humanoid figure entered the room just as Castiel caught a good look at the name plate adorning the deep purple hardwood desk.

“Damn,” Castiel swore again.

“That doesn’t look like a Leviathan,” Sam observed, taking in the grizzled face, seemingly human torso with its impeccably tailored suit, and mass of squirming tentacles that appeared to be the ‘man’s’ primary locomotive force.

“Crowley,” Castiel muttered, “He’s a contractor.  And an assbutt.”

“Castiel!” Called a gravely British accent, “Darling!  How long has it been?”

Castiel sighed in exasperation.  “He’s also my ex,” he admitted, flushing at Sam’s shocked expression.

“Your ex- _what_?” Sam asked frankly but Castiel ignored him.

“I’m well, Crowley,” Castiel greeted before glancing at their Leviathan captors, “Comparatively speaking.”

“I know the feeling,” Crowley noted amiably, throwing a condescending glance at Sam before focusing on the Seraph once more, “I see you’ve found another human.  You’ve got quite a collection going, so I hear.”

“You’re working for Roman now?” Castiel sneered, though Crowley simply waved him off.

“Only a temporary contract, handsome,” Crowley informed him, “With the Galactic economy the way it is I’ve had to get creative.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Castiel grumbled.

“Still bitter about Raphael, I see,” Crowley chortled, “I had no idea you were so fragile under that gravelly exterior.  Besides-“

Crowley drew in close, eye to eye with Castiel as Sam watched with the distinct discomfort of one witnessing unwanted advances against a friend but being unable to intervene, due to social protocol, or in this case, by the slimy grip of an alien worm monster.

“I hear tell you’ve got a new man,” Crowley mocked, “A literal one, this time.”

Sam was confused by Crowley’s play on words, but he wrote it off as a space thing, too busy cringing as one of Crowley’s tentacles caressed Castiel’s jaw like a lascivious rope of seaweed.   

“Please keep your extraneous appendages to yourself,” Castiel gritted between clenched teeth as he tried to avoid the unwanted suction grip.

“Now Cas,” Crowley pouted, “You used to love my tentacles.”

“Our previous sexual escapades are not of import,” Castiel retorted, slightly pink in the cheeks, Sam couldn’t help but notice.  Crowley smirked before withdrawing to pace between the two bound men. 

“Unfortunately, you’re correct,” Crowley agreed, “The real pressing matter is that there are two stowaways on Dick Roman’s flagship, and I’ve been ordered to make sure they get shot out the airlock.  Having you two turn out to be my much loathed former consort and his new friend the Tundronian Land Squirrel was simply a gleeful coincidence.  Bon voyage, Cassie.”  With a curt nod to the guards Crowley slid from the room, leaving Sam and Castiel to be dragged back from whence they had come.

“Tundronian Land Squirrel?” was all Sam could think to ask about as his black dress shoes skidded on the meticulously waxed flooring.

“A very large, unintelligent mammal,” Castiel informed him, “Crowley making a humorous reference to your above average human height.”

“I can’t believe you used to _like_ that guy,” Sam scowled as Crowley’s goons dragged them down the hall.  Castiel shrugged his agreement.

“I had something of a misguided youth,” he mused, “My current significant other is infinitely preferable.  You’ll see, if you survive to meet him.”

“He doesn’t have tentacles too, does he?” Sam asked, not exactly thrilled with that _if._

“Of course not,” Castiel stated as though it were obvious, “We need to stall for time.” 

Without further warning, Castiel wrenched his arms free of the Leviathan’s hold, as easily as if he had been simply stuck in a very thick mud. 

“Watch your eyes,” he warned before slapping a palm to what passed as his captor’s forehead.  With a pulse of white hot light, the Leviathan guard was practically incinerated.  Castiel wasted no time before repeating the action with Sam’s assailant, leaving Sam unharmed and brushing ash off his suit in mild disgust and awe.  All in all the operation had taken less than ten seconds.  Regrettably, their two captors were not the only Leviathan in the hall.  At the first sign of Castiel’s aggression the other’s had frozen as one before swarming on the two prisoners with terrifying single mindedness.  Fortunately, Castiel’s powers of smiting didn’t seem to have an expiration point, though the numbers were somewhat overwhelming.  Sam, for his part, did his best to dodge the Leviathan’s slimy limbs and stay out of the Seraph’s way.

Castiel’s eyes were giving off tendrils of white hot plasma, chest heaving with the smell of ozone thick in the air, when a manic digital rendition of “Wheel in the Sky” began to emanate from his ragged trench coat.  With a blink the energy coursing through his frame was gone, and with a small shuffling of material he unearthed what for all appearances seemed to be an Earthly mobile phone. 

The irritating ringtone ceased as Castiel flipped the plastic case open.

“Apologies,” he directed at the guards before shifting his attention to the mysterious caller, “Hello? Yes….yes.  I missed you too.  No, no, we’re fine…One minute?  We can make it work.  Tell Jody to be on line, we will most likely have pursuers.  …sounds good.  I love you too.”   Castiel shook his head with a moony grin before his expression smoothed out and he turned to address Sam. 

“It seems our rescuers have made unexpectedly good time,” he informed him, “Engaging with our adversaries here is no longer necessary.” 

“Uh, that’s great Cas,” Sam said, eyeing the approaching guards nervously, “Are they gonna, uh, beam us up or something?” 

“I understand your reference,” Castiel replied, “But no.  We’re going to meet them on the curb, so to speak.”

Sam found his arms locked behind his back yet again as he and Castiel were shunted towards a large steel door labeled “Trash Disposal”, decorated with several pressure gauges and airlock safety protocols. 

“Cas,” Sam insisted, struggling against the guard’s hold, “You can’t mean-“

“Please, Sam,” Castiel interrupted, expression calm, “For the first time today, I have the situation totally under control.”

“What do you mean for the _first-“_ Sam’s words were cut short as they were tossed unceremoniously into the airlock chamber, the doors behind them closing with a pneumatic hiss.

“This is it,” Sam wheezed, “We’re gonna die.”

“We’re not going to die,” Castiel insisted, helping Sam to his feet.

“I am,” Sam retorted, “Cause I don’t know about you and you’re freaky alien species or whatever, but when _humans_ get launched into space, _they die._ ”

Castiel stared at him for a long moment.  “Now that you’re off Earth you should probably know,” he pointed out, “You’re not really supposed to _say_ ‘aliens’.”  

Sam threw his hands up in defeat and resigned himself to the inevitable.

 _Note: Any human with a high school education would know better than to expect to survive in the vacuum of space.  However, any being with an_ inter-galactic _high school education would be able to snidely inform them that, in fact, if that human is traveling with a Seraph, they will, as long as they maintain skin to skin contact, be able to survive in the void for exactly forty-five seconds.  According to recent scientific research this phenomena has something to do with electromagnetic currents, or ion paralysis, or…you know, molecule stuff.  Just take a deep breath, don’t question it, and congratulate yourself on your good choice in an intergalactic traveling companion, friend._

Castiel gave Sam a paraphrased version of this information before gripping his hand as the airlock seal released and they were sucked explosively in to the black abyss of space.

* * *

 

Floating through space while holding hands with a Seraph was a surreal experience, Sam Winchester observed.  It was surprising painless.  Certainly Sam had a physical awareness of the simultaneous blistering heat and deadening cold he would have, and indeed should have, been feeling, yet it was buffered, muffled by Castiel’s calm aura as it emanated from the grip the Seraph was keeping tightly around Sam’s wrist.  Sam was holding his breath, but he felt the secure, and dangerous, sensation that if he were to attempt it, breathing would not be at all impossible.  Equally absent was the brutal vacuum suction on his eyes and eardrums that had been promised by many of Earth’s well-made, but as it happens inaccurate, space adventure films.  It was as though Sam had been conveniently vacuum sealed in his own little bubble of atmosphere.

The lack of death experienced as Sam floated through space holding hands with an alien allowed him to regain control of most of his senses, and so it was with a clear head that he observed the approach of what appeared to be (and appeared, is again a key word in this sentence) a mundane, if well kept, 1967 black, four-door Chevrolet Impala.

 _What the actual fuck_ , Sam thought to himself as the car drifted towards them, a faint shimmering of exhaust the only indicator of its locomotive power.

 _Things are not always what they seem_ , answered a gravelly voice as the Impala came to a stop in front of their slowly spinning, rudderless forms.  Upside down, Castiel managed to get a grip on one of the back door handles.   Thirty-five seconds after being launched from the Leviathan ship, Sam found himself tumbling into the back seat of an American muscle car, Castiel following close behind as he managed to use their momentum to slam the door closed and seal them inside.  Immediately gravity kicked in, and Sam dropped in a heap onto the leather bench seat and he drew a heaving breath as Castiel released his wrist. Sam’s knees pressed into the seat in front of him, and a seat belt buckle was definitely digging into his lower back.  Except for the science fiction backdrop, he could have been on one of his dad’s dreaded road trips.  Castiel quickly righted himself, snapping on one of the seatbelts and helping Sam to sit up as well. 

“Try not to move,” was all the warning Sam received before the leather seat turned to wet sand beneath him and an ice cold ocean wave crashed over them.  Before Sam even had a chance to panic the water evaporated into the heat of a convection oven and then again into the damp and soggy interior of a cave before Sam’s vision began to blink like a strobe light and he lost all sense of orientation.  It was quickly becoming apparent that this was no ordinary car.

What was probably a few seconds felt like a millennium.  Sam was transformed on the atomic level, first to a small child, then an African elephant, then to a charming sofa set, before losing physical form all together in bizarre swirls of red, green, and brown. 

 _This ship runs on a Purgatorial Unreality Generator,_ Castiel’s voice filtered through Sam’s addled mind, _Remain calm.  Reality will soon stabilize._

 _I highly doubt that,_ Sam responded pettily.  Castiel smirked before dissolving into a wash of heliotropic light.

* * *

 

“And how did our stowaways fare, Mr. Crowley?” 

“It would appear, Mr. Roman,” Crowley reluctantly spoke into the intercom, “That despite fool-proof efforts, the two prisoners have managed to survive.”

“Mr. Crowley, that is a shame,” answered a smooth and slimy voice (no pun intended), “Though I suppose you can’t be entirely held responsible.  It does go against all our data for two humans to survive being shot out of an airlock.”

“Quite right sir,” Crowley agreed, “Though, perhaps for transparency’s sake, it might be important to inform you that one of the prisoners was, in fact, a Seraph, sir.”

There was a long pause, occupied only by the click-clack of an executive desk toy and the soft plop of black slime.

“That _does_ change things, Mr. Crowley,” came the answer at last, “It seems in order to preserve the good name of this company, I’m going to have to take action myself.”

The transmission cut off and Crowley looked properly kowtowed.  It wasn’t until the last Leviathan slithered out of his office that the tentacled business man allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk.  Plans were falling into place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome aboard the Chevrolonian Impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so it turns out I've got a lot more written of this than I realized, so I can actually post twice a week! *tosses confetti* This is a nice long update, so enjoy! I look forward to your comments!

White.  That was the first thing Sam noticed once his world became more than a murky swirl of color and sound.  Everything was white.  And shiny.  Where the Leviathan ship had loved its concrete, iron, and glass, this ship, the _Impala,_ Sam remembered, the room that was shifting into place seemed to have walls of some soft white polymer, with delicate pipes and railings of chrome.  Castiel was already standing beside him, and his mouth was moving, but his words were drowned out by a mass of sound.  There were bees buzzing and children shouting and weaving through it all was the beautiful, cruel sound of Jessica Moore laughing with her friends in the firm’s break room.

As reality settled Sam found he could distinguish one voice in particular from the universal chorus, one that for a horrifying moment sounded too close to his father for comfort.  Except instead of criticizing his life choices, this voice seemed to be trying to hail Castiel.

“Cas!” The voice allied itself with a body.  A tall, well built, humanoid body which proceeded to nearly tackle Castiel to the ground with the enthusiasm of its greeting.

“Castiel you _beautiful_ non-binary son of a bitch,” the man (Sam assumed it was a man, but then again he’d assumed Castiel was a man and look where that had gotten him) was now peppering Castiel’s face with kisses, “Missed you so much, baby.  Can’t wait to get you outta this meatsuit and back in my-“

Sam cleared his throat loudly at that point.  Fortunately only Castiel was learned enough to know that according to the mating practices of several Andromedean cultures Sam had just suggested a threesome, and he was too polite to mention it, especially in the face of the delicate situation they now found themselves in.  At the interruption Castiel’s lover whipped his head around to glare at Sam, the gold fringe fluttering on the epaulets of his red patent leather jacket.  With reality fully stabilized Sam was able to take in the man before him wholly, and it was, in his own words, weird as hell.  From the floor up his bowed legs were sheathed in black denim, grounded by space age biker boots.  Under his red coat, which was in itself a collector’s piece from right out of the Sergeant Pepper psychedelic era, all scarlet and jet buttons, the man wore a mandarin collared shirt that was colored so deep as to appear black, except when Sam shifted his eyes he could see bars of indigo, violet and hunter green.  Plaid, he realized.  Flannel, in fact.  Weird.  Dark gold hair cropped short framed a solid jaw and long lashed green eyes that flashed as the man placed himself as a shield in front of Castiel.  Despite the inches Sam held over him, he couldn’t help but stumble back a step under the intimidating gaze of Castiel’s companion, wondering if the Seraph had bothered to let anyone know Sam would be coming along.  The void of space was beginning to seem preferable to the ice of the suspicious gaze currently scrutinizing him.   

Castiel broke the tension with a soft hand on the man’s face, pivoting him back to rest their foreheads together in a gesture of tenderness that Sam wouldn’t have thought the stoic alien capable of. 

“Hello, Dean.”  Castiel’s eyes flicked guiltily over to Sam just in time for the name to hit him like a ton of bricks.  Dean.  _Dean_ his brother.    At Castiel’s calm touch Dean instantly relaxed, clearly trusting his partner’s analysis of the situation, as Sam stumbled back another step, this time from shock.

Now that it had been pointed out, Sam couldn’t miss some of the more obvious Winchester traits.  There was his father’s brow and strong shoulders, and his mother’s mouth.  Sam could even observe something of his own grip where Dean’s hands fell on Castiel’s neck as the two men kissed, this time light and chaste.  The reality of his brother (and his brother _kissing_ the alien who’d just plucked him off of Earth) hit Sam like a punch to the stomach.  His head was reeling, and he was left with the bizarre wish that there were something around for him to grab hold of that wasn’t chrome.  His brother was alive.  Dean was alive.  Dean was alive and wearing _skinny jeans_.  A few feet away Dean and Castiel continued to embrace passionately, conveniently ignoring Sam and his quickly changing world in favor of a long, slow minute of kissing.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said at last with a smile, completely unaware of course that his smile was nearly a carbon copy of his birth mother’s and was therefore causing his brother to have an existential crisis a few feet away, “Who the hell did you bring on my ship?”

“I’m Sam,” Sam jumped forward, extending a hand to shake before dropping it nervously at Dean’s skeptical expression, “I’ve heard a lot about you from Cas.  I couldn’t wait to meet you-“

“Sam is my friend,” Castiel interrupted with a calm hand on Sam’s shoulder, “When I learned of Earth’s imminent destruction I brought him along.”

“I told you no more hitchhikers, Cas,” Dean scowled, “not even bedraggled puppy dog lookin’ ones.   Baby doesn’t like Earthlings, and we’re at our quota as is.”  Sam quirked his brow at the apparent oxymoron.  For all he dressed like the lovechild of Freddy Mercury and Easy Rider, as far as he could tell Dean was one hundred percent unmodified human.

“But aren’t _you_ an-“ Dean paused in stroking an exposed piece of chrome just as Castiel’s grip on Sam’s shoulder tightened painfully.  Sam looked down at Castiel’s hand and back to find a warning finger pointed right between his eyes.

“Don’t.  You.  Dare.”  Dean growled, eyes flashing, “I may be human, but I’m no Earthling.  An accident of genetics doesn’t mean I’m lumped in with a mud crawler like you.”

 _It does_ , Sam thought ruefully as his brother turned and stomped back towards the helm, _More than you know_.  He winced as he heard Dean calling roughly to someone named Ellen to prep the airlock.

“Sorry,” Castiel apologized beside him, “He’s a little sensitive.  Earth is, after all, not a planet one wants to be associated with, by species or otherwise.”

“Dean has no idea who I am, does he?” Sam guessed.  Earth’s destruction had been tempered by the fact that at least Sam would be reunited with his brother, but it seemed like he was going to be denied even that simple a wish.  He’d taken the hint when Castiel had introduced him as a ‘friend’, even though they’d probably spoken about six sentences to each other before today.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel replied, “Dean hasn’t been to Earth since he was first taken.  He doesn’t remember anything about you or his parents.  I wasn’t sure if this was the moment to bring it up.”

“Some reunion,” Sam mused.  A horrible thought occurred to him.  “He’s not actually gonna throw me off the ship, is he?”

“I’ll talk with him,” Castiel promised, which was specifically not the answer Sam had been looking for.  Castiel followed Dean up a small set of stairs to speak to him quietly.  Their occasional glances down only made Sam more nervous.

“Don’t worry,” assured a warm, maternal voice from nowhere, “He seems prickly, but under all that bluster the Captain’s gentle as a newborn skin walker.”

“What?” Sam jumped, spinning in the small room, “Who’s there?”

“Take it easy,” the voice chuckled, “Take a look up to your left.”

Sam glanced up to see a small intercom speaker that he could now tell was the source of the voice.

“I’m Ellen,” she continued, “I’m the ship’s motherboard.  Welcome on board the Chevrolonian _Impala_.”

“Motherboard,” Sam asked, “You mean like a computer?”

“I’m a little fancier than that, but sure,” Ellen agreed, “I’m the navigation, the atmospheric stabilization system, and the hyperspace drive.”

“Uh, I’m Sam,” Sam greeted, “I’m, well, I _was_ from Earth.  Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“The feelin’s mutual,” Ellen assured him, “Why don’t you go check on the lovebirds now?  I feel like they’ve got something to tell you.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Ellen gave a pleased hum at his manners as Sam cautiously approached the metal stairs where Dean and Cas spoke.

“Please,” Sam could hear Castiel murmuring, “Dean, I know why you’re uneasy, I’m only asking that you trust me.”

“You know I do, babe,” Dean answered as Sam drew closer, “If it’s important to you then it’s cool with me.”

“You.”  Sam jumped as Dean addressed him without warning.  His brother held out a cautious hand to shake, one arm still wrapped protectively around Castiel’s waist.  

“I’m Dean,” he introduced himself, shaking Sam’s hand briefly, but with a warning in his grip, “I’m not crazy about it, but if Cas says you’re good then you’re good.  Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” Sam ventured, chest easing.  Friendly handshakes were a start, at least.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, shifting his arm until his hung more easily over Castiel’s shoulders, “We’ll have to give you the grand tour later.  We should get up to the bridge.  I don’t like the look of all that debris.”

Sam followed Dean and Castiel nervously through a brief tunnel and up a short flight of metal stairs, emerging into a huge atrium of sorts.  The vaulted ceilings made room for wide sheets of glass that peered out into the stars around them, giving a clear view of their current escape.  Dean strode confidently across the suspended walkway, approaching another crew member who appeared to be monitoring a plethora of computer screens.

“Weapons and shields!  What’s our damage?”

“Minimal,” came the reply, “And watch your tone, young man, or I will turn this ship around!”

Dean rolled his eyes as they climbed the metal steps up to a raised platform, Sam following, craning his neck to see the face that matched that slightly familiar woman’s voice.

“Oh yeah,” Dean turned, “If we’re not throwing you overboard then you should probably meet-“

“Jody?” Sam interrupted, “Jody Mills?”

The woman turned, her dark feathered hair and lightly lined face recognizable despite being back lit by a bank of shifting holographic screens.  He jumped as a ripple of blue lights wound up her toned arms in an intricate bead like pattern, coming to a crest in a coronet of light on her brow as Jody’s expression shifted from one of confusion to surprised recognition.

“Sam Winchester?” she exclaimed, lights flickering back down her frame as she smiled, “How long has it been?  I can’t believe-oh, hang on-“  Jody turned back to the myriad screens before her for a moment, arms (and the line of her spine, Sam could see through the soft material of her shirt) lighting up once again as the ship began to fire at a cluster of Leviathan enemies.

“You guys know each other?” Dean asked as Jody worked, somehow seeming to be in control of the ships guns with a series of complicated hand motions.

“I bought her a coffee one time,” Sam replied, mesmerized by the scene.

Dean and Castiel shared a glance before he shrugged.  “Small Universe,” Dean quipped. 

“I’ll say,” Jody agreed as the ships exploded on the other side of the massive glass windshield, “You got taller.”

“You got, uh, glowy,” Sam observed thickly.   Jody laughed, firing the ships canons at a rogue cruiser with a flick of her wrist.

 “Well you did say I should try and turn over a new leaf,” she pointed out.

 “No kidding,” Sam exhaled.

_A brief aside on Earth expatriate Jody Mills:_

_Jody Mills led a comparatively average, then tragic thirty-five years on Earth before joining the crew of the Impala.  After a stint in the American National Guard, Jody served as a law enforcement officer in the state of South Dakota for ten years, in the meantime marrying, raising a son, and earning a Krav Maga black belt.  This idyllic life was interrupted by the murder of her husband and son, the culprit of which she arrested and testified against, as both a victim and an expert.  It was during the trial that she encountered intern Sam Winchester, who bought her a cup of coffee on the day of sentencing and whose generally friendly and optimistic demeanor simultaneously irritated and inspired her._

_Any positive influence this chance meeting may have had on Jody Mills was regrettably circumvented when the very next week she was abducted by Draconian pirates (an unpleasant if generally non-lethal species, most known for their ability to breath fire in oxygen dense environments) who immediately eliminated their greatest advantage by leaving the atmosphere of Earth, with the very disoriented Jody in tow._

_This disrespect of her person and agency proved to be the last straw, and by the time rescue arrived in the coincidental form of Dean and Castiel Novak (to whom the Draconian captain had owed money), Jody had already neutralized thirty-four assailants and was in the process of thoroughly wrecking the alien craft’s weapons systems.  Dean, while reluctant to trust an Earthling, was undeniably impressed by Jody’s show of force and offered her safe passage back to Earth aboard the Impala.  Looking for a fresh start, Jody countered his offer, instead requesting to accompany Dean and Castiel on their travels, in return offering to serve as weapons officer and to teach them how to make the best grilled cheese sandwich they’d ever tasted.  It took little convincing from Castiel for Dean to strike the deal._

_Three years, a few bio-mechanical implants, and several hundred grilled cheeses later, Jody is an integral member of Dean’s crew, and almost literally the heart of the Chevrolonian Impala, seeing as her central nervous system is the control center for all of the ship’s defensive and offensive protocols._

_Jody Mills has been a soldier, a wife, and a mother.  Now she is also a space explorer, a diplomat, and can control all the weaponry of an intergalactic warship with her mind.  One has to admit, that’s pretty cool._

“Updates ready on our fuel and navigation itinerary,” Ellen announced, “You’ll want to make your adjustments now, Captain, if we’re gonna make it outta the solar system today.”

“Talk to me,” Dean acknowledged, pulling a holographic screen to the forefront of the deck.  He seemed engrossed with the seemingly nonsensical charts and swirling graphs on the screen, so Sam nudged Castiel and asked if he could have a quick word.  Castiel acquiesced, and with a soft kiss and a wink to Dean he followed Sam back towards the stairs to the airlock they had boarded the ship from.  He could see Jody eyeing them but Castiel waved her off with a smile and she rolled her eyes but nodded, moving to assist Dean. 

“So what’s up with that?” Sam asked, gesturing vaguely between Cas and his brother.  Castiel frowned, confused. 

“What’s up with what?”

“Why is Dean…you know,” Sam stammered, “Kissing you, and stuff?”

“You were aware that your brother and I knew each other,” Castiel reminded him, “Why are you surprised to see him greet me intimately?”

“I thought you mean you were like, _co-workers_ , or something,” Sam said, exasperated, “On Earth you let a guy know when you’re sleeping with his brother, Cas.”

“I see,” Castiel noted.  There was a pause.  “Then perhaps it would also be necessary to inform you that in nine of the thirteen galactic districts Dean is legally my spouse.”

Sam thought his jaw would hit the floor.

“Now you’re telling me you’re _married_?”

“That’s right,” Dean interjected, appearing suddenly to wrap his arms around Castiel from behind, “We’ve got our Seraph rings, our Chevrolonian commitment tattoos, and a whole file-folder full of certificates, which, if you don’t mind, I’d like to reaffirm after three months of tragic but necessary separation.  Cas?”

“I quite agree,” Castiel said, kissing Dean on the neck before smiling apologetically at Sam, “Jody will show you to one of our spare rooms.  I know it’s been a long day for you, so perhaps now some rest would be the best solution.”

“Don’t worry ‘Captains’,” Jody assured them, “I’ll take care of tall, dark, and homeless here.”

“Thank you Jody,” Castiel remarked emphatically, clasping her hand firmly, “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“No problem,” Jody returned warmly, “Welcome home, Cas.”

Dean and Castiel bid their goodnights, scurrying off hand in hand through a door that opened with a pneumatic hiss. 

“You okay?”  Jody asked behind him.  Sam shook his head, taking a deep breath and blowing it out.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “Earth, space…it’s all too much.  I feel like I’m watching someone else’s life.”

“Yeah, it’ll hit you eventually,” Jody agreed, “Come on, we’ll set you up a room, whether you’ll be doing any sleeping tonight or not.”

Eventually Sam wound up down a hallway with an armful of pillows while Jody sought sheets in another storage area on the ship.  The lighting was dim, possibly to emulate evening light, but the sheen and shimmer of metal and polymer was still the dominant aesthetic, even away from the shiny grandeur of the main bridge. 

“Third door on the left,” Sam murmured to himself, walking backwards as he attempted to decipher Jody’s direction.  A sudden collision nearly caused him to lose his balance.

“Oh,” Sam exclaimed, tripping, “Sorry, I-Oh.”

He hadn’t backed into Jody, as he had mistakenly assumed, but a vaguely anthropomorphic metal statue of some kind.  He laughed nervously, shoes echoing on the gridded floor. 

“I guess you’re not-“ he began, before the statue (scratch that, _robot_ ) whirred to life and eyed him venomously.  He jumped, as the android, which he could tell from the smooth contours of its form was definitely designed as female, cracked what sounded like a loose spring in her neck and stretched her rather clunky arms over her head with a groan, as a human would after being unexpectedly awoken from a nap.

“Not what?  Human?” the android asked with a tilt of her head that could only be described as _sassy_ , “How primeval of you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know-“ Sam tried again, but the robot just flickered the deep gold lights that passed for eyes on the front of her main processor dismissively. 

“Oh, well then that’s just _fine,”_ she grumbled, “Let’s all just run around kicking things without worrying if their sentient beings or not-“

“He didn’t mean any harm, Jo, take it easy,” Jody admonished, finally returning with a strange collection of silk sheets and plush microfiber blankets. 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Sam tried, “I’m-“

“Sam Winchester,” Jo supplied, “Male human, of Earth.  Brother of Dean, graduate of Stanford and UCLA.  Unmarried, no children, recently became a member of an endangered species.  Did I miss anything important?”

“How?” Sam asked, at the same time Jody blurted, “You’re Dean’s brother?!”

“Yup, but Castiel doesn’t want to tell him ‘cause he’s worried Dean’s not ready to handle it,” Jo confirmed, “And for the record, I know everything.  Looking up your information wasn’t even a challenge.”

“You know _everything?_ ” Sam repeated.

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” the robot shrugged glumly.

“Are you kidding?” Sam exclaimed, “That’s amazing!  People would probably kill to know what you know.”

“Yeah?  You wanna trade places?” Jo posed, “With a brain the size of a planet, a body made of off-brand chrome, and the personality chip of a teen-aged girl for all eternity?”  Sam winced at the prospect (wouldn’t we all).

“Quit your whinin’, young lady, and lock your knock-off chrome self into the navigation hardware,” Ellen bossed from a nearby speaker, “The Captain wants to jump back to hyperspace before we crash into Neptune.”

“Sure thing, _mom,”_ Jo grumbled, her posterior lights flashing sullenly as she disappeared around a polished hallway corner.  Sam stared until the whirring of the android’s motor had faded, then looked back to Jody, who shrugged. 

“You get used to it,” she told him. 

“Do all the robots in space sound like they’re from the Midwest?” Sam asked as he followed Jody into a plain, if futuristic, bedroom.

“Is that what you’re hearing?” Jody laughed, “Harvelle Tech has been screwing around with personality chips for their AI’s for a decade or so now.  I guess if Cas synced you up that’s how the accent might translate.”

“Weird,” Sam muttered, helping Jody spread the sheets out over the mattress.  The silky fabric, of course woven with basic gripping fibers, spread over the memory foam like a liquid before snapping into tight hospital corners, much to Sam’s amazement.  Jody just shook her head with a grin.

“I remember my first day in space,” she mused fondly at Sam’s wonder. 

“So you’re really Dean’s brother?” Jody asked again after they’d folded back the top sheet.

“Yeah,” Sam told her, “That’s pretty much how Cas managed to get me off the planet, saying he knew Dean.  We, my family I mean, we thought he got kidnapped when I was like six months old.  I guess in a way we were right.”

“Jesus,” Jody breathed, shaking her head.

“I was kinda looking forward meeting him,” Sam admitted, “But Cas is his husband, so I guess he knows what’s right.”

Jody snorted.  “Yeah, no decision _Cas_ has made ever came back to bite him in the ass.” 

Sam laughed.  “Traveling with him is,” he searched for the right word, “Eventful.”

“Ha.  Wait till you get an eyeful of him and Dean,” Jody said, leaning on his door frame with her arms crossed, “They’re even worse as a pair.”

“I think I already have,” Sam muttered, scrunching up his nose with a grin.

“You okay with that?”  Jody mentioned, “The Dean and Cas thing?  Out here it’s nothing, but I remember Earth.”

Sam shrugged.  “I’m just happy Dean’s alive,” Sam admitted, “He could have told me he was married to Mr. Spock and I wouldn’t have cared.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Jody agreed, “He and Cas do well together.  Still, if you wanna talk, I’m around.”

“Thanks,” Sam said.  Even one friend, one _human_ friend, was enough to hold him together right now. 

“Sure, sure,” Jody waved him off, “I’m going to sleep, but I’m just down the south hallway if you need, me, and Ellen’s always up if you have any questions while you’re poking around.”

“Poking around?” Sam asked, confused.  Sure, he wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he’d figured he was basically on house arrest until he proved he was trust worthy or something. 

“Please,” Jody smirked, “We both know you’re not sleeping tonight.  May as well explore a bit.”

“Yeah?” Sam wondered, “Isn’t it dangerous to just wander around in here?”

“Nah,” Jody assured him, “Just use your common sense.  Don’t try to force open a door that’s locked, and don’t hit any big red buttons.  You’ll be fine.”

“Uh, alright then,” Sam agreed.  With a firm pat on the shoulder Jody said her goodnights and left him to his small room.  It was nice enough, with a private bathroom and a closet that contained a few hangers and one soft and fluffy cloth robe.  After some consideration Sam took off his suit, hanging it up before shrugging the bathrobe on over his t-shirt and boxers and heading back out into the ships innards in his sock feet. 

The Chevrolonian _Impala_ ’s interior was structured around the main bridge, with a series of lesser hallways that looped around the central hub before rejoining, leading to a generally confusing orientation of rooms.  Sam learned this as he followed his particular hallway, peering in doors as his fancy struck him to see both storerooms and complicated computer rooms side-by-side with little to no appearance of organization.

One door, labeled “Research” slid open to reveal a strange room filled only with rainbow slinkies of various scales, like the kind found at novelty shops and children’s arcades.  Several of the toys were suspended from the ceiling, bouncing in strange magnetic fields while nearby machines traced their trajectory on sheets of paper with brightly colored pens.  Other of the slinkies, such as one impressive specimen that appeared large enough to fit the diameter of Sam’s waist, simply rested on custom made racks, like the one’s Earthly housewives would purchase to store wrapping paper or Christmas ribbon.  It felt good to see a familiar object, albeit in a weirdly scientific context.  Sam couldn’t help but sneak one of the smaller slinkies from where it sat on an unguarded table, toying with it in his pocket as he left the room and continued down the shiny passageway.

The next door to whoosh open nearly blinded him as the neon lit hallway overflowed with burning white light.

“For fuck’s sake, _close the damn door_!” shouted an angry voice that sounded a lot like Dean, only slightly strangled.  A series of low moans followed it, and Sam slammed the door shut as he realized he was clearly interrupting some act of passion.  Fucking aliens, he wondered as he continued down the hall.

_A brief aside on the sex life of Dean and Castiel Novak:_

_Dean and Castiel’s first sexual encounter, in the velvet and leather lined powder room of the Chevrolonian Embassy on Castiel’s home planet of Eden, had been quite impassioned, yet surprisingly vanilla.  Tab A had gone into a well-lubricated Slot B, with nary a tentacle or a sentient plane of color to be found.  All that changed when a few months, and important relationship developments later, Castiel asked Dean quite seriously if he wanted to have an out of body experience.  Dean, still learning the ins and outs of Castiel’s sense of humor, but full of affection and the kind of sexual flexibility that would have been stripped from him had he been raised by, say, an ex-marine on a more conservative planet like Earth, he responded with an emphatic “Hell yes!”  Two orgasms and a handful of second-degree burns later, Dean Winchester (soon to be Novak) had lost his non-corporeal virginity.  It was shortly after that escapade that Castiel proposed, and a few weeks later the pair were recognized as life-mates, beginning with the Seraph rites held sacred by Castiel.  Since, then they have been working their way through the marriage ceremonies of every culture in the galaxy (alphabetically by deity’s first name), and having sex in as many ways, both corporeal and non, as they can think of._

_A brief(er) aside on the sex life of Castiel in particular:_

_Seraphs, as it happens, once mated in accordance with their traditional rituals, are henceforth in a perpetual state of orgasm.  It is for this reason that many inter-Galactic sociologists have mistakenly labeled them as “stoic”, or “stone faced,” for if the Seraphs as a species had not managed to get their visible emotions under control, the officers needed to keep up with all the public indecency arrests in high Seraph populated areas would number somewhere in the low thousands._

_Dean, being married to a Seraph, is very much aware of this aspect of their biology, and enjoys attempting to break Castiel’s concentration, which often results in Castiel accidentally letting out pornographic moans in the middle of large crowds.  This particular pastime has led to the couple being banned from several restaurant chains and department stores across the Universe._

Sam opened a larger door, which revealed the familiar sight of the navigation bridge.  He assumed he had gone full circle through the ship, or at least that particular stretch of hallway.  The _Impala_ was certainly much bigger on the inside than it had appeared, though given its exterior, to be otherwise would be nearly impossible.  Sam looked around for Jody’s familiar form, but there appeared to be no life forms on the deck besides his own.   Not organic ones anyways. 

“Ellen?” Sam called out tentatively into the buzz and whir of the navigation system.

“I’m here, boy,” the motherboard responded, “You break somethin’?”

“No ma’am,” Sam said quickly, grimacing as he realized he was being intimidated by a maternal computer program.  Manners learned from a marine father ran deep. “I uh…I wanted to ask you about Dean.”

“I bet you do,” Ellen chuckled, “Don’t think I didn’t scan your genes the minute you stepped on this ship.”

“So then you know about us,” Sam guessed, “Can you tell me what happened to him?  Where did they take him, when he was abducted?”

“Dean was born human,” Ellen informed him, “But he was raised pure Chevrolonian.”

If Sam had received even a passable galactic education, he would have known about the cultural anomaly that is the Chevrolonian star cluster.  Regrettably, Earth remains something of a dark spot in terms of Universal interspecies literacy, so Ellen took pity on him.

_An explanation of the Chevrolonian nations and the unconventional upbringing of Dean Winchester:_

_So dubbed by the peoples living there approximately ten thousand years ago, the Chevrolonian cluster had been the birthplace of one of the most powerful and specific time clairvoyants in recorded Universal history.  Whether by some bizarre twist in the fabric of time and space, or merely an eclectic personal preference, the clairvoyant had one line of crystal clear insight into the future of carbon based existence: 20 th century American automobile culture.  This great teacher (whose name, as happens with many important pieces of information, was never written down.  People are_ always _convinced they’ll be able to remember it later) spent the majority of his three hundred year life span spreading the good news of road trips, riding with the top down, and the importance of a good in-car speaker system.  Central to his doctrine was the great deity Chevrolet, from whence all vehicles came (Ford, for whatever reason, most likely a failed product placement contract, was rarely mentioned.  Imports were ignored altogether.)  Chevrolet was served by a race of two legged, fashionable, attractive beings, who in return received the blessings of their automotive god in the form of drive thru cuisine, power steering, and expanded storage space beneath the back passenger seats.  Near the end of his life, it was vaguely prophesied by the clairvoyant that the great Chevrolet would someday send a member of this race to the Chevrolonians, a Righteous Man who would be for their people a direct channel to the great heaven of speed, freedom, and rock n’ roll._

_So the Chevrolonians waited patiently for a humanoid Messiah who would lead them in the way of true automotive worship.  Nine-thousand, nine hundred and sixty-nine years later, their savior arrived in the form of four year old Dean Winchester.  Having been, for lack of a better word, harvested from Earth, a primitive and little known planet, during the short-lived and highly controversial Hobbs-Blogdorg Diversity Act of 14535 G.C. E. (Galactic Common Era)Dean was considered by most of the participants of this bizarre and half-baked attempt to promote species diversity and cultural stimulation to be the relative short straw.  However, delivered unto the Chevrolonians with a child-size leather jacket, the bright eyes and symmetrical features that promised to grow into All-American good looks, and the declaration that “AC-DC rules!” Dean was a godsend.  Literally.  Instantly hailed as a Prince of the star cluster, Dean spent his childhood in the lap of luxury, making appearances at social functions, blessing the maiden voyages of the Chevrolonian’s highly sophisticated interpretations of earthly automobiles, and occasionally staring out into the night, wondering where exactly he had come from, and why they hadn’t wanted him._

_At the age of 18 (Earth years), Dean Winchester officially came of age, and as he was now truly the Righteous Man, he was gifted the finest intergalactic vehicle ever developed by the Chevrolonian high priests: the Impala.  Shortly afterwards he embarked on a much prophesied road trip across the Universe, both to find himself, as was the Chevrolonian way, and to serve as a diplomat on behalf of his relatively out of the way adopted people.  It was during this voyage that Dean encountered his future spouse, Castiel Novak of the Seraphs, and thus the road trip has yet to come to an end, though now it has shifted from a journey of self-discovery to more of a perpetual honeymoon.  The Chevrolonians, ever indulgent of their prince, and somewhat unaware of human life spans, are unconcerned that Dean’s adventures on board the Impala have reached about twelve Earth years in length, and that their hero shows no signs of settling down any time soon.  Their only response when Dean occasionally checks in is “Nah man, it’s cool.  Have fun out there.”_

“Um…wow,” Sam stammered as Ellen wrapped up her data presentation.

“It sure is something,” Ellen agreed, “I imagine that wasn’t quite what you were expecting.”

“I’ll say,” Sam muttered, mind still reeling.  It was…confusing, the amalgamation of all of his emotions.  The primary thing maybe was relief.  It was like a helium balloon in his chest, the huge voluminous relief that Dean was alive, that he’d had a good life, even if it was a strange one.  The horrors of Sam’s nightmares had been proven false, and it was like a lead weight had been cut away from him.  That happiness was of course tarnished slightly by sadness that Dean had grown up without him, and Sam without his big brother.  On the tail of those two dominant feelings was curiosity, finely veined with anger.  If this was Dean’s life, to be an explorer of the galaxy, why hadn’t he ever come to Earth?  Why didn’t he try to find his birth family?  Why hadn’t he tried to find Sam?

Sam was still lost in thought as he said his goodnights to Ellen, thanking her politely for her help before returning to his allotted room.  The length of the day was finally hitting him, and it was with a grateful spirit that Sam sank onto the alien memory foam and let unconsciousness take him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is the Last Man from Earth. But it's not all as bad as it seems.

Sam awoke with the keen, painful awareness that Earth, along with its seven billion inhabitants, no longer existed.  This factual information, which up to this point had been a dull buzz in his over stimulated mind, had asserted itself in the night and was now a throbbing, unavoidable presence in his gut.  Sam Winchester was coming to the realization, as any healthily self-centered human would have been bound to do, that with the exception of his brother, who given his alien upbringing and lack of memory of his home planet and didn’t really count, Sam was quite possibly the last Man in the Universe.

This, understandably, is a rather stressful situation for any being, let alone a person of high, and, let’s be honest, occasionally oversensitive, moral and ethical standards such as Sam, to be in.   Luckily Sam’s over thinking, which probably would have led to some emotional and unnecessary internal vow to be a worthy representative of the human species for all alien cultures, was interrupted by a knock and the arrival of Jody.  

“Morning sunshine,” she greeted, poking her rumpled head in the door, “Are you decent?”

“I am the last Man in the Universe,” was all Sam could respond with.  Jody blinked a few times.

“I guess so,” she said at last, lips pursed contemplatively.  Then: “Join the club.”

There was a beat of silence before Sam screwed up his face and laughed at his own existentialism.

 “Come on,” Jody urged, tossing Sam a plain ceramic mug and brandishing a couple of empty pitchers, “You look like you could use a Not Coffee.”

“A ‘not coffee’?” Sam repeated, shrugging on his robe as he scrambled after the woman, empty mug in hand.

“You’ll see,” Jody called back, following the twists and turns of the passageway with ease.

Eventually a sharp left turn revealed an alcove containing several extremely sophisticated looking vending machines, the largest of which resembled the coffee dispensers found at ritzy Earth bus stations and airports.  At Jody’s prompting, Sam placed his cup under the machine’s spout, and with a buzz and a whir it promptly began spewing a steaming liquid that was just a few shades too purple to be considered normal coffee color.  As it neared the brim the steady stream ceased, and Sam reclaimed his mug, suspicious but comforted by the familiarity of a warm drink in his hands. 

“It also makes Not Tea, Not Cider, and Not Orange Juice,” Jody supplied cheerfully, sticking one of her empty pitchers under the spout.  Sam eyed his mug of deep mahogany beverage dubiously before taking a sip.

“Ugh,” Sam said, shuddering as the strange, bitter liquid burned his tongue, “That is _not_ coffee.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Jody agreed, “Dean got a kick out of it so the name stuck.”

“You guys drink this by choice?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Dean hates it,” Jody confided, “But Castiel drinks it like water.  He says it’s the most popular drink on Eden, comes in all kinds of flavors.”

“Blech.  Whatever floats your boat I guess,” Sam mused, grimacing as he took another diplomatic sip of the non-coffee beverage.

“It’s a caffeine fix,” Jody admitted, “So it works for me.  Besides, with four sugars and a healthy splash of Not Milk, it’s no worse than the gasoline they used to serve at the station.” 

With the mention of Jody’s former workplace came the revenge of Sam’s melancholy from a few minutes before.  Had this been an ordinary morning, Sam would have looking forward to the pleasant afterglow of a first date, or if he were _really_ lucky, the pleasurable afterglow of a night of tentative, but emotionally healthy sex.  As it were, Sam was on a spaceship with a drink that didn’t quite pass as coffee, and sweet, lovely, perfect Jess was floating somewhere in the cosmos, existing only as a cloud of disintegrated atoms, along with the rest of Earth’s population. 

Jody sensed the shift in Sam’s mood as a human sensitive to weather related headaches would notice a sharp shift in the barometric pressure.  She quickly filled his empty hand with a pitcher of Not Orange Juice before squeezing him on the shoulder.

“I know,” she murmured, reaching higher to tuck a loose strand of Sam’s unruly dark hair behind his ear.  The intimate motion on Earth would probably be interpreted as romantic, but Sam understood it for what it was, from one member of an endangered species to another: You are not alone.  Sam nodded, blinking back the moisture from his eyes and offering a tentative smile, which Jody returned, delicate lines around her brown eyes revealing a life filled with laughter, despite the pain that went with it. 

“There he is,” Jody smiled, picking up her own pitcher of Not Coffee for the breakfast table, “Come on.  I’ll show you the kitchen, and then you can help me make Almost Toast, Nearly Eggs, and Basically Bacon.”

The kitchen was…well, _shiny_ , but otherwise very similar to what Sam had grown up with on Earth.  They deposited their pitchers on round table with three well used chrome chairs, Jody pulling over a short stool in order to add a place for Sam before going to rustle through an industrial sized refrigerator.  In short order Sam had been assigned toast duties while Jody arranged an alien facsimile of eggs and bacon.

“Do you always take care of breakfast?” Sam asked as he popped slice after slice of a fibrous, bread-like foodstuff into the toaster.

“We take turns,” Jody informed him, beating a large bowl of pale magenta “eggs” before dumping them into a sizzling pan, “Except Cas, but only ‘cause he’s so terrible at cooking.  He only really eats to be polite anyway.”

“Huh,” Sam mused as the toaster ejected its latest occupants and he added them to the crispy stack, “So Dean’s pretty good then?” 

“He’s the best of us,” Jody admitted, shifting the curling bacon around its pan, “We’ll have him make French toast sometime.  You’ll see.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam agreed readily, eager to get to know his brother, “Where are those guys anyways?”

Jody shook her head ruefully, depositing the cooked meat to a platter before adding it to the growing pile of food on the table.

“Knowing those two,” she guessed, “They’re probably trying to squeeze in one more round before rejoining the waking world.”

“Ugh, _there’s_ a visual I didn’t need,” Sam groaned, sinking into one of the seats at the table as the final dishes were placed down. 

“Yeah, just be grateful I let ‘em sleep in,” Jody laughed as she joined him, scooping herself a healthy serving of bacon, “They can get all their fluffy couple-y tendencies out of their system and we can mope undisturbed.”

“I do appreciate it,” Sam said quietly around a mouth full of eggs, “Thanks, Jody.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jody deferred, “Us _homo sapiens_ gotta stick together, right?”

“Yeah, all two and a half of us,” Sam joked, taking into account Dean’s otherworldly culture, “You don’t think there’s more of us, do you?  Like, a secret Vulcan colony or something?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few black sheep floating around some dark corner of the Universe or other,” Jody mused, “But as far as _I_ know, you, me, and Dean are the only humans left at this point.”

“We’re not gonna have to…repopulate the human species or anything, right?” Sam asked, red faced.  Jody actually snorted into her Not Coffee, laughing so hard that Ellen chimed in, offering to initiate anti-choking protocols. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jody waved her away, still chuckling, “Kiddo, not that you’re hard on the eyes, but that ship has _sailed.”_

“In addition,” Castiel interjected, as he and Dean joined them in the galley, “Seeing as you, Jody, and Dean, appear to be the only humans remaining, the lack of genetic diversity would ensure the extinction of the species within five generations regardless of your reproductive efforts.”

“Good morning to you too, Cas,” Jody muttered, rolling her eyes fondly.  Sam laughed, though he couldn’t help but track his brother and Castiel as they made their way to the small table.

Dean led the way, hair looking a little singed in places, but otherwise post-orgasmically relaxed, slinging a short white motorcycle jacket over the back of a chair before claiming a plate full of breakfast foodstuffs.   Castiel, following close behind, looked unflappable as usual, though Sam would have ventured to say there was a new spring in his step.

“You look chipper,” Sam noted petulantly as Dean stretched across the table for the Nearly Eggs.

“That’s cause I just got laid properly for the first time in three months,” Dean informed him frankly, yelping in surprise as Castiel smacked his ass playfully in retaliation for his crudeness.  Castiel’s expression remained stoic, smiling secretly as he buttered some toast, but Dean grinned rakishly.

“Trust me, man,” Dean grinned, slapping an arm around Sam’s shoulders, “You ain’t been had till you’ve been had by an inter-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent.”

“Are you wearing gold leather pants?” Sam asked, ignoring the unwanted visual of his brother’s sex life in favor of eyeing Dean’s outfit doubtfully.

“Yeah, what about ‘em?” Dean hedged, adjusting his chocolaty silk tie defensively as he reached past Sam for what passed as orange juice in space, “Sheesh, just ‘cause Earthlings have no sense of style…”

“Speaking of Earth…” Sam began uncertainly. 

“What about it?” Dean asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“Well,” Sam continued, “It’s, um…gone.  And I just wondered if you were okay.”

Dean looked momentarily confused, fork raised halfway to his mouth, before his brows drew together in irritation.  “What,” he asked dismissively, “You mean like my _feelings_?”

Castiel’s eyes flicked between Sam and his husband, perhaps trying to send some subtle warning, but Sam figured he was in too deep to back down now, and he _did_ want to get to know Dean.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam offered, “I mean, I know you never really spent a lot of time there, but if you wanted to talk-“

“You’re right,” Dean interrupted him, igniting a flicker of hope in Sam’s chest before extinguishing it just as quickly, “I haven’t spent a lot of time there, because, frankly, to me Earth is like the deadbeat dad who could never even bother with a _phone call_ to explain himself to his kid.  So yeah, sorry if I’m not exactly devastated.”

“Dean,” Castiel admonished quietly, no doubt seeing through Sam’s attempt to hide his hurt feelings.  Dean took another stubborn bite of pink eggs, before throwing down his fork and staring sullenly at his plate.

 _It is an intransmutable fact that regardless of cultural upbringing, healthy romantic attachments, or lives lived in an alternate dimension, Dean Novak is_ not _good at talking about his feelings.  Unfortunately, with the exception of his husband, Dean’s attempts to alleviate emotional situations with gruffness or humor are often misconstrued by his companions as callousness.  This has led to more than one estranged friendship, and after Dean’s poor attempts to comfort a rival nation’s ambassador following the death of her father, nearly ignited the third Chevolonian-Chrysleri War._

“I’m sorry,” Dean grunted at last. 

“Dean-“ Jody tried to interrupt.

“No, I am,” Dean continued, more genuinely, “Whatever my issues are Earth was your guy’s home planet and that’s a big deal.  So…yeah.  Sorry.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean replied, “Really.”   Dean seemed lost in thought for a moment before a shudder rippled down his spine.  Castiel ran a comforting hand down his husband’s back. 

“Ugh,” Dean commented at last, “The more I think about the whole thing the more I want to get totally shit-faced.”  Sam couldn’t disagree.  It would be stupid to pretend his restless sleep the night before hadn’t been plagued by more than one Leviathan, laughing through its razor maw as Earth disintegrated in the background.

“In fact…” Dean continued with a sly glance around the table. 

 “I think we _all_ need to get shit-faced,” Dean declared, “And I know just the place.”

“Dean,” Castiel began, “I’m not sure Sam-“

“Ellen?  Get ready for hyperspace,” Dean called out, “We’re headin’ for Baz n’ Benny’s.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew heads out for a nice strong drink. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the record cold snap in the States, here's an early update! Thanks so much for all your great comments!

_Baz n’ Benny’s Bar and Gumbo Shack has been ranked on the “Top Ten Most Hedonistic Eating Establishments” roster of every well circulated publication and foodie blog in the Universe since its founding circa 14485 G.C.E.  It’s one of the few social hotspots remaining in the Eastern quadrants where one can honestly say that the sucking noises coming from the table splitting a crawdad pot are more vulgar than the one coming from the orgy one booth to the left.  Benny Lafitte, co-proprietor, head bartender, and Rician Vampire (hailing from one of the swamp planet Bayou’s lesser moons), takes that as a compliment.  His business partner, Balthazar Roche (a Seraph, and a good friend of Castiel’s from finishing school) couldn’t agree more, and has proposed adopting the description as the restaurants official tagline, though it was generally agreed that really that might be a bit much.  Nonetheless the business has continued to enjoy a glowing, if off-color, reputation, and has been noted by multiple diasporas that it is the perfect establishment in which to drink away the memory of your recently demolished home planet._

Sam knew a futile attempt at diversion when he saw one, but that didn’t stop him from finding himself disembarking from the Impala onto an alien moon halfway across the galaxy only a few hours later.  He was back in his suit from the day before, the garment having been cleaned and pressed by the remarkable closet in Sam’s room onboard the ship.  Dean was leading the group excitedly toward a large, hospitable looking establishment, lit up with a plethora of neon signs advertising food, drinks, and entertainment to all species.  Sam wasn’t sure alcohol was going to solve his permanent exile from all things Earth, but he had to agree with Dean that a drink sounded pretty great.

“I guess it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Sam mused.  Castiel side eyed him as they followed Dean to the restaurant’s front entrance.

“Of course it is,” he stated blankly.

“Earth humor, Cas,” Sam chuckled weakly, “Don’t worry about it.”  Castiel’s brow furrowed before he was hailed by a very bright and excited shaft of light.  It was like looking at a sunbeam reflected off glass, causing Sam’s eyes to water in irritation.  With a start he realized this must be Castiel’s Seraph friend, and by extension, this was probably what Cas looked like when he and Dean were behind closed doors. 

“Cassie!” the shimmering beam exclaimed, “What is this riff raff you’re keeping company with now?”

Castiel, rather than being affronted, actually laughed, lacing his fingers with Dean’s casually before returning the greeting.

“Balthazar,” he said warmly, “I know it’s been a while, but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten my friends.  My _human_ friends?”

“Human, what-oh yes, one moment-“ The light brightened painfully for a moment before collapsing on itself and reshaping into the form of a middle aged man with light blue eyes and black leather pants.  The only indicator of his non-human status was a strange pitch behind his voice when he spoke, and a slight luminosity to his skin, which, if Sam hadn’t just witnessed his transformation, would have guessed to be some kind of rave body glitter. 

“There we are,” Balthazar chortled, shaking out the fabricated material of his low, v-neck shirt, “Don’t want to burn any eyes out, do we?  Now come here you handsome scoundrel.”  He and Castiel exchanged a friendly, one-armed hug, Balthazar ruffling the Seraph’s hair affectionately, much to Sam’s amusement, before greeting “Castiel’s lovely, and masculine” husband with a firm handshake, promising Dean that someone named Benny was at the bar and waiting to buy them their first round of drinks, at which Sam’s brother perked up considerably.

“And if it isn’t _the_ deadliest and most enchanting woman this side of Sirius-9,” Balthazar declared, bending low to press a kiss to Jody’s hand, “My dear Jody, I am so sorry to hear about Earth.”

“Well I wasn’t there to see it, thankfully,” Jody joked weakly, “That honor fell to my friend Sam here.”

Balthazar appraised Sam blatantly, making him feel a little self-conscious in his off the rack suit.

“I see you picked a giant,” Balthazar noted, sizing Sam up, “Cas getting lazy with the heavy lifting?”

“I’m from Earth,” Sam volunteered, “Castiel rescued me when it got destroyed.”

“How generous of him,” Balthazar chirped, clapping Sam on the shoulder before guiding him through the swinging doors of the bar, “Welcome to the big wide world, Sam.”

The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, brightly colored, and smelled _delicious._ The only thing more unusual than the eclectic décor was the diversity of activities taking place around Sam and his friends as they made their way to the bar.  Aside from a close proximity to the bar crowd from any given Star Wars movie, Sam passed at least two children’s birthday parties, one crawdad eating contest, and what looked like a full on rave taking place underneath one of the tables, packed close with strange, ten inch tall people with lavender and lime green skin that glowed under the miniature dark lights installed for their enjoyment.  A small velvet rope, complete with a stone-faced lavender bouncer, cordoned off the party from un-cool attendees.  Despite the fact that he was six feet tall and entering the party would have been nigh on impossible regardless, Sam felt strangely rejected. 

“Don’t let the Faerians get you down,” Balthazar chimed in over the noisy crowds, shaking Sam out of his mild hypnosis, “They’re too cool for everyone.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Sam shouted back, before they caught up to Dean, Cas, and Jody, who were chatting with a broad shouldered bartender with bright blue eyes and a felt cap.  He appeared mostly human, except Sam couldn’t help but notice the bartender’s pointed incisors when he laughed at a comment from Jody.

“And who’s this monstrosity?” the bartender asked as Sam stepped close to Jody, feeling self conscious in the more obviously alien restaurant.

“Oh yeah,” Dean remembered, noting Sam’s arrival, “Benny, Sam.  Sam, Benny.  Sam’s Cas’ buddy from Earth.” 

Benny shook his head with a warm grin.

“You are just pickin’ up strays left and right, brother,” he teased Dean.

“Yeah that’s what I said,” Dean agreed ruefully, “But it turns out you can’t just throw people overboard when you’re in space.  ‘Sides, Sammy’s not so bad.”

“Thanks for the winning endorsement,” Sam scoffed. 

  “Benny!” Balthazar chimed in, throwing an arm over Castiel’s shoulders “I trust you can handle this rowdy group?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Benny waved him off, “Get back to your socializin’, ya lush.”

“Aye, aye, _mon_ _capitaine,”_ Balthazar crowed before giving Castiel a kiss on the cheek and retreating back to the red carpeted entrance way. 

“So what can I get you?” Benny asked as Dean made teasing kissy faces at Castiel over Balthazar’s over-affection, “On the house, mind you.”

“I’m gonna need a blood boiler,” Jody ordered, “Two for starters and keep ‘em coming.  We’ve had a hell of a day.”

“We’ll take two of whatever’s on tap,” Dean requested, with a nod of agreement from Castiel, “And my newest crew member will have a Lestadt.”

“Startin’ him off slow?” Benny joked, glancing at Sam with a smirk.

“Gotta be careful with these humans, man,” Dean shot back with a devious grin of his own, “Delicate stomachs, all of ‘em.”

Sam glanced at Jody to make sure Dean’s idea of an alcoholic prank wouldn’t lead to his untimely demise.  Her grin assured him that everything would be fine, as did the promise that he could have her extra drink if he didn’t like what Dean had ordered for him.  In short order they had been installed in a spacious corner booth and a very attractive waitress with three eyes and a very fashionable pixie haircut was delivering a tray full of drinks.  Dean and Castiel both sipped on pilsner glasses filled with luminescent, carbonated liquid while Jody was swirling a tumbler half full of something crystal clear and dangerous, judging by the heated blush rising to her cheeks after only a few sips.  The glass in front of Sam looked innocent, if a feminine, bright pink with a sugar rim and an umbrella, for Pete’s sake.  

Sam squinted at the pink beverage before him before taking a cautious sip.  When it failed to produce any unexpected hallucinogenic properties he took a bolder sample, and was surprised to find a very familiar cherry flavor on his tongue.

“This is a freakin’ _Shirley Temple_ ,” he exclaimed at last.  At his offended face Dean burst into laughter, throwing his head back in diabolical glee at his brother’s kiddie drink.  Sam rolled his eyes but took another long drink through the beverages curly straw, seemingly unperturbed by his virgin cocktail.  If that was Dean’s idea of a prank he was gonna have to step up his game if he was ever gonna be brothers with Sam Winchester.

“Honestly,” Jody muttered, swiping Sam’s froofy drink out of his hand.  With little mess she managed to pour her second drink into Sam’s tall glass, mixing the two before pouring half back into her tumbler and handing the other back.  Sam took another sip, and nearly choked as the added liquor burned down his throat, barely softened by the cherry flavor.

“That’ll knock the Earthling right out of ya,” Dean promised, still chuckling, though at the mention of their home planet Sam and Jody immediately sobered, no pun intended.  Castiel nudged Dean in the ribs, looking pointedly across the booth to Sam, and their weapons officer who had just knocked back her entire first beverage. 

“ _Chevrolet_ , I did it again,” Dean cursed “I’m sorr-“

“Quit apologizing,” Jody interrupted, “S’not like there’s anymore Earth to be from, so what’s the use in getting offended?”

It seemed that whatever Jody was drinking was starting to hit her, and judging by the fire kindling in Sam’s veins he wasn’t far behind.  Perhaps his rising blood alcohol content was what prompted his next move.

“Earth,” he declared solemnly, raising his glass, “Is no more.” 

“No more Earth,” Jody echoed, clinking their glasses together before reaching across the table to do the same with Dean and Castiel.

“No more Earth,” Dean muttered, taking a healthy swig of his ‘beer’.

“No more Jess,” Sam mused, studying the swirl of his fruity cocktail.

“No more Christmas,” Jody agreed glumly.

“No more human accounting firms,” Castiel added, looking surprisingly morose.

“No more Hawaiian vacations.” 

“No more Starbucks coffee.”

“No more tex-mex restaurants.”

“No more dolphins.”

Actually, there _were_ still dolphins.  However, Sam had obviously not been informed of this development.  Perhaps if he had it would have made the destruction of Earth a little less difficult to comprehend.  Fortunately, perpetual optimist that he was, Sam was quickly able to find the silver lining of the situation even without knowledge of the survival of the _Tursiops truncates_.

“…No more global warming,” Sam suggested, clinking his glass against Jody’s again and sipping his sugary drink contemplatively.

“No more taxes,” Jody said thoughtfully.

“No more black widow spiders,” Sam added.

“No more running into people from high school in the grocery store!”  Jody chimed.

 “No more L.A. traffic.”

“No more mowing the lawn!”

“No more Westboro Baptist Church!”

“No more bad Beatles tribute bands!”

All of a sudden the situation didn’t seem at all dire, which Sam, if he was being honest with himself, could probably attribute to the alien liquor coursing through his bloodstream.  Luckily Castiel seemed alright with being the pillar of strength among his light weight human companions as the next time the waitress came around, he quietly ordered another round of drinks and let the pair continue their intoxicated rant.  Unfortunately, engrossed with the antics across the booth, Castiel missed the lack of participation on the part the man beside him.

Perhaps if Sam and Jody had been a little more conscientious of the third human in their party, they might have chosen to tone down their insensitive, albeit highly necessary, homage to the end of Earth.  Despite his callous attitude, Dean Novak was nowhere near at peace with the destruction of his planet of origin.  Sam especially would have been heartbroken to see the inner monologue hidden by Dean’s tipsy grin.

_No more home town that I never got to see._

_No more shitty high school that I never got to go to._

_No more family that didn’t want me._

“I’m gonna go check in with Benny for a bit,” Dean muttered to Castiel, grin vanishing as he slid out of the booth to head for the bar.

“Dean-“ Sam tried to call after his brother, but turning his head too fast to track Dean’s trajectory proved a fatal error as the room promptly began to swim and the alien booze took full effect on Sam’s unsuspecting human frame.

“ _Wow_ ,” Sam slurred, turning back around much more slowly, “This is strong stuff.”

“Well they don’t serve it to kids,” Jody laughed, markedly less intoxicated than him, while Castiel only looked mildly buzzed, which left Sam temporarily grumpy.  It is remarkable the flurry of emotions that accompany being forced to acknowledge that in comparison to most alien species, and acclimated human metabolisms, your own alcoholic tolerance is practically nonexistent.  Begrudgingly, the next time the waitress came around, Sam only asked for a glass of water. 

“So, is Dean okay?” Sam asked, the cool water cleansing his sticky palate, “I mean, I know he says he’s fine, but I thought maybe-“

“I think Dean may be having some conflicting feelings,” Castiel admitted, “While I don’t think he particularly wanted to make a strong connection with Earth, I think it’s still difficult to face the fact that he no longer has the option.”

“I mean he _does_ though,” Sam pointed out, “I’m here, and that was like a one in a million shot that _I’d_ be the one guy to make it off planet in time.  I didn’t want to step out of line yesterday, but I think it’s important that we tell him he’s got family, before the lie gets out of hand.”

“Perhaps it is time,” Castiel agreed reluctantly, “We should find Dean, and-“

“Castiel!”  Castiel’s head snapped up in time to see Balthazar looking frantically from booth to booth before catching the Seraph’s eye.

“Cassie, thank God, wherever that bastard is,” Balthazar whispered urgently, sliding into the booth beside Castiel with a wary glance around, “You all need to get out of here, and fast.  _Naomi_ is here.”

“What?”  Castiel’s eyes sharpened (A little known Seraph ability: voluntary alcoholic detox).

“Her Peacekeepers are already swarming over the Impala,” Balthazar informed them, “There looking for Dean, and your man is making their job a hell of a lot easier.”

At the mention of the Impala Jody’s electro sensors lit up, casting an ominous blue glow over the scene as Castiel’s eyes flicked across the crowded bar to where Dean was leading a rousing chorus of some alien anthem.  Benny had clearly been providing the starship captain with something stronger than beer.  Castiel pressed two fingers to Sam’s forehead, lifting the haze of alcohol from his vision as Balthazar did the same for Jody.

“Jody,” Castiel ordered, “Activate the intruder protocols.”

The lights crowning Jody’s brow turned a hazardous orange as she nodded, heading for the exit.

“Sam,” Castiel continued, “Guard the door.  Do your best to delay anyone who looks like a S.W.A.T. officer from Earth television.”

Sam wove through the crowded bar with Castiel close behind.  He ignored Dean’s call of “Sammaaay!”  to continue the short distance to the main entrance.  Sam wasn’t certain he could be of much assistance in heading off an alien peace-keeping force, but he could at least serve as lookout.  Luckily he was close enough to where Dean was holding court over the bar regulars to hear his animated dialogue and shout a warning if need be. 

“Caaas!” Sam heard Dean exclaim drunkenly as the Seraph approached.

“Dean,” Castiel greeted.  Sam observed as Castiel attempted to help his lover down from the bar top on less than steady footing.  Dean’s white suede boots probably weren’t helping on the slick counter top. 

“Guys!” Dean shouted to his audience as he jumped down to the tiled floor, “This is my husband!  Isn’t he beautiful?”  A rousing chorus of hoots and shouts echoed back and Sam caught Castiel’s blush, despite the urgency of the situation.

“Dean, please…” Castiel was attempting to settle him, waving off Benny’s look of concern.

“I don’t need Earth, Cas,” Dean was trying to explain, voice carrying despite the intimacy of his words, “It doesn’t matter that my family didn’t want me and Earth got blown up ‘cause I’ve got _you_ , and that’s like a million times better.  You’re my world instead of Earth…”  The twinge in Sam’s chest at Dean’s accidental revelations was interrupted but a pair of black tactical uniformed officers bursting through the bar entrance.  Without thinking, Sam took a swing at the first, forgetting that these were Seraphs and at best he was about to be awarded a very sore set of knuckles in return for his bravery. 

“Cas!” he shouted in warning as he shook his smarting hand.  His punch, while undamaging, had at least managed to distract the two Peacekeepers, who were now backing Sam against the heavy front door.  Fortunately Castiel had heard his warning and managed to yank Dean’s head down to his level, pressing two fingers to his husband’s forehead.

Sam kept his hands raised in surrender, watching Dean’s expression darken as Castiel whispered urgently in his ear.

“On my ship?” Sam could hear Dean exclaiming, “I’ll rip their fucking _lungs_ out.”

“Dean, wait-“ Castiel cried as Dean shoved past the officers cornering Sam and ran out into the violet night.  Castiel tried to follow, fortunately for Sam pausing to knock out the two Peacekeepers before they both rushed after Dean.

“The other officers will most likely be Seraphs,” Castiel warned, “I won’t be able to incapacitate them so easily.”

They caught up to Dean in the proverbial parking lot in time to see him strike an officer with a green volt of electricity, fired from some kind of revolver.  The _Impala_ was only a few short yards away surrounded with a circle of unconscious Peacekeepers.  Apparently Jody was already inside kicking the snot out of their would-be boarders.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Sam breathed as Dean’s attacker dropped to the tarmac, still twitching slightly.

“He’s just stunned,” Dean assured him, brandishing his weapon, “Colt Phaser.  S’not set to kill.  _Yet._ ”

“Dean,” Castiel urged, “We need to go back inside and let Jody do her job.”

“She’s messed with Baby, Cas,” Dean growled, wrenching his grip away, “This is too far and you know it!”

“Naomi wants you to react like this,” Castiel insisted, “She’s doing this to lure you out here.  A scratch on the _Impala_ isn’t worth your life!”

Dean’s expression wavered, but before he could respond Dean was engulfed in a blazing column of light.  Sam stared up in shock at the ship that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and was now attempting to drag his brother into its belly, like an Earthly abduction movie.  Castiel must have managed to grab hold of his husband’s hand, and he was struggling with all his strength to keep Dean from leaving the ground, but when Sam tried to reach in and aid his friend he withdrew with a hiss as the light scalded his palms. 

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel cried, “Dean no!”  A clanging emerged from within the light, and Sam realized it was Dean trying to escape the ships tractor beam, which seemed to have formed some kind of two way glass to prevent his brother from freeing himself.  Dean’s face was barely visible through the shaft of white light but Sam could see the terror on his brother’s face.  Sam tried calling Dean’s name but the light only intensified and soon they lost sight of him.

“Cas!” was all the pair could hear before there was a mighty _yank_ and Castiel was sent sprawling onto the pavement, scrambling back to his feet in time to see Dean vanish into the Peacekeeper’s ship.

“ _No_ ,” Castiel roared, falling to his knees as the ship took off with Dean inside, “Naomi, _no.”_

For a few moments both Seraph and human could only stare at the deep purple sky in shock as the ship disappeared, impossibly out of their grasp. 

“Castiel!” Jody called suddenly from the back door of the _Impala_ , “We caught one!”

Castiel sprang back to life, and Sam could barely keep up with the Seraph as they reboarded the ship, reality settling in a matter of seconds, as there had been no need to modify the atmosphere of the entryway.  By the time matter solidified Castiel was already climbing the stairs to the main deck and Sam wasn’t far behind.  In the middle of the wide bridge, Jo appeared to be sitting on a black tactical clad officer, a glowing around her hands and the soles of her feet where they were pressed flat to the deck indicated some kind of magnetic activity, allowing her to restrain the attacker despite his Seraph strength.

“I buzzed him, Captain,” Jo announced as Castiel, acting captain in Dean’s absence, Sam gathered, approached the pinned officer, “He won’t be going non-corporeal on us.”

As Sam caught up he understood what “buzzed” must mean, catching sight of a small but angry burn on the back of the soldier’s neck.  He assumed correctly that the mark would prevent a Seraph from abandoning a humanoid form.   With Castiel’s added strength Jody was able to step in and secure the man with heavy cuffs.

“You won’t get anything out of me, Castiel,” the soldier spoke up, voice thin but adamant, “That troublemaker’s gonna get what he deserves.”

“We’ll speak to him in the dungeon,” Castiel ordered, eyes flashing.  Jo gave her affirmative before dragging the Seraph away.

“In the _what_?” Sam asked, leery of his brother in law’s stone expression.

“Is Dean…” Jody asked hesitantly.  Castiel merely shook his head.

“They took him,” Sam said quietly as Castiel rested his palms against the navigation board, shoulders hunched, “Cas had him, but then he was just…gone.”

“I’ll go set our guest up,” Jody volunteered, pausing to rest a hand on Castiel’s arm, “We’ll get him back, Cas.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, “Thank you, Jody.  I’ll be down swiftly.”

“Cas, who’s Naomi?” Sam asked.

“She’s trouble,” Castiel responded cryptically, “Especially if she has Dean.”

Sam wanted to ask more, but with the exit of the captive Seraph Castiel’s tough exterior cracked and Sam saw how terrified he really was. 

“In the grand scheme of the Universe,” Castiel mumbled, lost, “There is no life as fragile as a human’s and none as precious as Dean’s is to me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Jody, and Castiel to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there! I'll be posting pretty quick from here on out, as I want to get everything published before I head back to school! Your comments have really been fantastic!

“Dungeon” was something of a misnomer, Sam found as he followed Castiel into a clean white room with a chrome chair in the center where their captive was currently bound.  Instead of cold stone and iron shackles, there were simply more seamless white walls and chrome, although this room did include a drain in the floor that made Sam nervous.  He was slightly comforted by the fact that the room seemed rarely used, or failing that, at least well cleaned.

“You gonna tell us your name?” Jody asked, lights flickering up and down her arms as multiple laser cannons extending seamlessly from the walls, “We may as well all be polite with each other.”

The unfortunate soldier looked nervously between Jody’s twitching trigger finger and dangerous flare of light from Castiel’s eyes.  Sam was unarmed, but did his best to at least contribute with his scale, and hopefully intimidating glare.

“…Ion,” the officer admitted gruffly. 

“Well, brother,” Castiel stepped forward, “I suggest you being cooperating, or this is going to become very unpleasant very quickly.”

“Unpleasant for _you_ ,” Ion shot back, “When Naomi finds I’ve been taken she will come for me.”

“You must know her better than I do,” Castiel said, some dark sarcasm behind his words that Sam didn’t fully understand, “Where did she take Dean?”

Ion remained silent, his eyes dark and challenging.

“Jody,” Castiel murmured with curt nod.  Jody snapped her fingers and one of the weapons discharged, hitting the captive Seraph with a volt of something that caused his jaw to clench and his eyes to roll back his head as he twitched for several seconds before shaking it off and _laughing_.

“You would know Castiel,” Ion sneered, “She may as well be _tickling_ me.”

“I know the benefits of a physical form,” Castiel responded, walking closer to the bound Seraph, “However, you, Ion, seem unused to it.  I can imagine you’ve never spent any duration of time with an actual body.  You’ve yet to learn its…vulnerabilities.”

Castiel’s low tone was giving Sam the heebie jeebies, and he wasn’t even on the receiving end.  Ion was looking nervous, his attempt at bravado reading like a grimace on his pale face. 

“Sam, Jody,” Castiel spoke quietly, “I’m going to have to ask you to close your eyes.”

Sam obediently squeezed his eyes shut, making a firm, silent oath never to get on his brother-in-law’s bad side.  He knew it was all for Dean, but still, it turned out Castiel was one scary son of a bitch. 

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Sam heard, “ _Where is Dean_?”

There was a brief, resolute silence, before Sam’s vision was lit with red and his skin burned, as if he’d stood too close to a lit firecracker.  His ears were assaulted by an agonized scream and a deep, booming voice that Sam shortly realized was Cas.

“ _Tell me,_ ” the Seraph demanded, and the light intensified before their captive’s resolve wavered and Sam heard his hoarse response.

“ _Headquarters_ ,” Ion yelped, “She took him to the main Headquarters!”

The heat flared against Sam’s skin, then cooled rapidly as the light faded and Sam opened his eyes with only a few dark spots in his vision.  Ion slumped in his shackled seat, eyes glazed and hair singed.

“The jail?” Castiel challenged, eyes narrowing, “Naomi wouldn’t be caught dead in that hell hole.”

“She won’t have to be,” Ion panted, chest heaving after Castiel’s interrogation, “All Naomi needs is to get him there and the bureaucracy will take care of the rest.  Winchester will never see the light of day.”

“His surname is _Novak_ ,” Castiel growled, eyes flaring, but Jody stopped him with a palm against the Seraph’s chest.

“Keep it together, Cas,” Jody warned in a whisper, intended only for Sam and Castiel, “If he’s telling the truth, and I think it is, then we’re on a timeframe.  We need to dump this guy and move, _now_.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, taking a calming breath, “You’re right, of course you’re right.”

“What do we do with the guy?” Sam asked, crossing his arms as his gaze met the captive Seraphs.

“Shoot him out the airlock,” Cas suggested heartlessly, “He’ll live for forty-five seconds.  If Naomi is as concerned as he claims, she will surely arrive in time to pick him up.”

“Castiel,” Jody warned as Ion’s face paled.  Dean’s husband shifted stubbornly for a few seconds before relenting.

“Fine,” he decided at last, “Remove the navigation on an escape pod and set him adrift.  He won’t suffocate, and it will be easily traceable if anyone does attempt a rescue.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” Ion breathed. 

“I’m not doing it for _you_ ,” Castiel growled, before swiftly vacating the room to confer with Ellen on a navigation plan.

* * *

 

_The Galactic Peacekeepers primary Headquarters is a very unpleasant building.  The chairs are stiff and uncomfortable, the floors cold and drafty, and the magazines are always outdated.  And that’s just the waiting room.  A prisoner of the GP, once processed, can look forward to a lifetime of agony and boredom, regardless of offense, seeing as no advocate has ever succeeded in freeing an inmate once imprisoned.  Habeas corpus is a regular joke in the GP staffroom, and they say that the bars of the prisoner’s cells are in fact made from the reinforced remains of families’ rejected prisoner release forms._

“It takes nine and half hours to fully process an arrestee before enter the prison system,” Castiel informed Sam and Jody flatly as they disembarked from the _Impala_ onto cold rocky soil, “Dean has already been inside for seven, so we don’t have much time.”

The Headquarters’ building, from Sam’s, and therefore a human’s, perspective, was like Alcatraz on steroids.  Hewn from the impenetrable crust of the planet itself, the monumental building was overwhelming, and created in Sam the very adamant wish not to enter.  Unfortunately, the fearsome structure currently held his brother, so in the Winchester way, Sam hardened his jaw and followed Jody and Cas inside.

The interior of the building, once the group navigated through the frankly medieval stone hallway, was much more familiar to a former lawyer such as Sam.  He’d been in more than one similar waiting room to pick up a few of his firm’s more troublesome clients from a drunk tank.  The close press of bodies, albeit bodies with extra limbs and varied forms of locomotion, the faint smell of puke and cheap cigarettes, and the distinct yet unique wailing of more than one infant was practically like coming home.  While this probably indicated that Sam Winchester would do well to reevaluate his standards of comfort and safety, at the moment it allowed him to approach the multicolored stacks of paperwork and the long, winding waiting line with much more composure than Castiel could muster.  The trio soon found themselves in the middle the queue, Sam with a pen cap in his teeth and Jody attempting to soothe Castiel, who was slowly losing his mind.

“At least the line’s moving,” Sam quipped, trying to scribble in what little he knew about Dean on the plethora of forms in his hands, “Do either of you know Dean’s starship license number?”

“No,” Castiel growled, his grip on Jody’s arm looking painfully tight, “This is taking too long.”

Castiel’s eyes were starting to glow an electric blue and Sam figured he’d best step in before they wound up with a waiting room full of shish-kebabs. 

“Cas!  Power down,” Sam ordered, “Let me handle this.”

“This isn’t family court in Palo Alto,” Jody cautioned.

“I’m a lawyer,” Sam assured her, “Bailing out your client’s the same no matter what solar system we’re in.”  Jody rolled her eyes but drew Cas back from the swiftly moving line, guiding him to one of the impressively uncomfortable chairs to coax his eyes back down from nuclear. 

“Next!” Called a delicate feminine voice.  Sam straightened his tie and stepped forward to the teller window.  The receptionist was quite pretty by her own species standards, all of her visible skin covered in fine, velvety black fur, which was offset nicely by a mint green sweater set.  A name tag attached to her lapel read “Nancy”. 

“How can I help you today?”

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself with his most charming Winchester smile, “I’m here to serve as legal representation for Dean Novak, née Winchester, prince of Chevrolonia.”

“Legal representation?”  Nancy repeated uncertainly, as if the word were new to her.  She looked over the multiple forms Sam had haphazardly filled in, shuffling through the papers nervously.

“That’s right,” Sam continued, smoothing his tie as he leaned forward, “I’m here to advocate for Mr. Novak.  Just as a precaution, you understand.  Making sure all proper protocols were followed at the time of his arrest, etc.”

“Yes,” the young woman agreed, “That seems reasonable.”

“Great,” Sam continued, “Then for starters, I’d like to take a look at the warrants.”  It was a total stab in the dark, the most basic tool Sam could think to pull from his legal toolbox at that moment, but his interactions with the interplanetary legal system thus far told him to trust his gut.   

“What?” asked the teller, clearly having been on uncertain footing for most of the conversation.  It was hardly Nancy’s fault that she found herself on rocky terrain, as unbeknownst to Sam, he was making the first attempt at providing legal representation to a prisoner of the Galactic government in the last two millennia. 

“The warrant,” Sam repeated, gaining confidence, “I’d like to see a copy of the original warrant issued to search Mr. Novak’s ship, the Chevrolonian Impala, the boarding of which led to his eventual arrest.”

“I-I’m not sure-“ Nancy stammered.

“I’ll wait for it,” Sam assured her, leaning on the counter as he waved at Jody and Cas reassuringly.  Castiel was practically boring a hole in the opposite cinderblock wall and Jody’s strained expression begged Sam to hurry it up, whatever he was playing at. 

“Mr. Winchester?”

“Nancy,” Sam responded, turning back to the young teller attentively, “What do you have for me?”

“Um,” the teller began, which Sam already counted as a victory, “I’m afraid sir, that there is no record of any warrant to search the defendant’s ship.”

“Excuse me?” Sam asked, brows raised, “Do you mean to tell me that you arrested my client, the honorary prince of a sovereign planetary nation, without any _paperwork_?”

The teller was clearly becoming quite flustered, her violet eyes wide and her fur standing up on end as she shuffled through her papers.  Sam was willing to bet she was a temp, probably didn’t know the law here any better than he did.  Luckily shitty bureaucracy is universal. 

“I-I’m afraid that is the case, sir,” the alien mumbled, “We _are_ working on a post-incident warrant based on later found evidence, but I’m afraid that could take up to three Galactic business days.”

“Well,” Sam cut in, rolling with it, “Until then I assume you will be releasing my client from all charges pending the proper documentation.  I will take him into my custody now, thank you.”

“Right.  Yes,” the teller agreed, fumbling for her phone, “Of course sir.  If you’ll just wait for the buzzer, we’ll have Mr. Novak right out to you.”

“Thank you Nancy,” Sam said courteously, “I’ll assume Mr. Novak’s personal affects will be returned as well.”

“Of course, sir.  Have a nice day.”

“Well?” Jody whispered fiercely, tossing aside a well dog-eared issue of _Antennae Monthly_ as Sam returned from the window, “What’s happening?”  Sam lifted her by the arm, pulling Cas along and talking quietly and quickly as he walked them down the hallway.

“You two need to go and tell Ellen to have the ship ready for take-off,” he ordered, “Me and Dean will be right behind you, but I think we’ve got about five minutes tops before somebody higher up realizes I just talked their number one prisoner out of lockup.  Go!”  Jody nodded, dragging a still slightly glowing Castiel behind her as they made for the ship as casually as possible.  Sam returned to wait by the electric gate that led into the main holding cell, resisting the all too human urge to tap his foot nervously against the concrete floor.  This was a good decision, because as any good space adventure could tell you, when busting your long lost older brother out of the most fearsome prison in the Left quadrant, confidence is everything.     

Sam only had a short time to wait before there was resounding clang and an ominous buzz as the steel door before him depowered slid open to reveal his brother, flanked by two black-clad Peacekeepers.   He stumbled forward as they released him, one guard collapsing a dangerous looking pair of cuffs that Dean had clearly been wearing until just recently.  Sam caught his brother by the shoulders, looking down the very short distance to ascertain his well being before they made their escape.

Dean’s eyes were glassy, and he looked haggard, but mostly unharmed, except for a few bruises and some singe marks on his tan dress shirt and the bundled white leather coat he had clutched to his chest, probably from over exposure to unvesseled Seraphs.  His tie hung loose around his neck and his shoulders were hunched, but he perked up immediately when he realized who had come to get him.

“Sam?” he exclaimed in surprise, “What’s going on?”

“I got you out on a technicality,” Sam explained quietly, guiding the disoriented Dean towards the exit with a firm grip on his arm, “Castiel is waiting for us on the _Impala_ , so for now just keep your head down and let’s get out of here before we get caught.”

“How did you do it?” Dean asked, following with a wary eye at the guards behind them.

“I’m American,” Sam assured him with a nervous grin, “I know how to take advantage of a loophole.”

Dean Novak, for all his bravado and flamboyant attire, did in fact know when to keep his mouth shut and his walk inconspicuous, so the brothers made it all the way to the launch pad before they heard the first alarms coming from the gargantuan stone building behind them.  Steel doors slammed shut over the exits and Sam’s stomach plummeted as a flood of black uniformed officers emerged from outposts around the plethora of ships parked in the cramped lot. 

“Run!” Sam shouted, gripping the exhausted Dean by the sleeve and dragging him along until he could toss his brother into the waiting back seat of the _Impala._ He scrambled in after, barely managing to slam the door closed before the Unreality Generator kicked in and they were suddenly engulfed in a flock of seagulls.  As the seagulls began to turn purple and pop like balloons Sam heard the boosters kick in and he breathed a sigh of relief, even though the air was now diamonds.  They’d made it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel decides the time is right for the big reveal.

As the entranceway solidified around them, Dean immediately dropped to his knees and attempted to embrace the shiny white floor of the Impala.

“Aw, Baby,” Dean crooned, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Jo was waiting for them in the airlock, taking Dean’s vitals as Sam caught his breath.  Castiel wasn’t far behind, fidgeting by the stairs as Jo measured Dean’s heart rate and brain electricity levels.

“We gotta go,” Sam puffed, “There’s gotta be a dozen cruisers ready to chase us.”

“Doubt it,” Jo informed them sullenly, as she removed her sensors from Dean’s throat, satisfied, “I flirted my way onto the Peacekeeper’s vehicle mainframe while you were in there.”

“And?” Sam asked urgently.

“Total misogynists,” she concluded, forearms clanking across her chest, “So I burned out all their hard drives.”

“You took out the whole fleet?” Sam asked, awestruck.

“Everybody in the sector,” Jo confirmed. 

“Jo!” Dean exclaimed, spinning the android around the loading dock in an off balanced hug, “You’re incredible!”

“That’s my girl,” Ellen declared proudly.

“All right _all right_ ,” Jo protested, “Put me down, you big ape.”

Dean obliged, but not before planting a sloppy kiss right between Jo’s flashing anterior lights.  Sam observed that a newly freed Dean was a very affectionate guy.

“Get over here,” Dean ordered, pulling Sam into a rough hug, “I take back everything I said about Earth and the mud men.  You really saved my ass back there, man.”

“Uh, thanks, Dean,” Sam said, slapping Dean a little awkwardly on the back as he returned his brother’s embrace, “Anytime.”

“And _you_ ,” Dean addressed his husband before swinging Castiel down into a long, romantic kiss, “You we’re gonna rip that jail apart brick by brick.”

“I had myself under control,” Castiel protested, attempting to look stern while still being held above the ground by Dean’s embrace.

“Nah-uh,” Dean teased, peppering Castiel’s face with kisses, “You were about to go full A-bomb on those douche bags.  I could feel you buzzing from the holding cell.”

“I was very… distressed at your capture,” Castiel admitted at last as Dean returned him to his feet.

“And I love you for it, babe,” Dean assured him with a final kiss before he addressed the ship’s motherboard, “Ellen, are we in the air yet?”

“We just cleared the atmosphere,” Ellen announced, “Jody handled on the ground weaponry so we should be clear of any pursuit for the time being.”

The entire crew breathed a sigh of relief and Sam finally loosened his tie.  He was getting back into that fluffy robe as soon as possible.  Dean, showing some signs of exhaustion following his capture, looked at Castiel sheepishly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” he apologized, to Sam’s surprise, “You were right and we almost got snatched.”

Castiel drew an affectionate hand through Dean’s rumpled hair.  “All is forgiven,” he assured him, “Now let’s take care of your bruises.”

Dean nodded demurely, and with a wave of dismissal from Sam, the couple headed for their rooms for some much needed rest.

Sam was in need of a good rest himself, and in short order he made his way back to his own strange little bedroom, but not before Jody had stopped him with a warm pat on the cheek and a “Good going today, tiger.”  Stomach still fluttering from the affectionate touch, Sam shrugged out of his suit to investigate his bathing options, looking to wash off travel grime and soothe several hours worth of tense muscles.

As it turns out, the shower in Sam’s small adjoined bathroom had fantastic water pressure.  He stood in the steaming jets for the better part of an hour letting the sudsy water, which seemed to lather up just fine without any additional soap, Sam discovered, clean the smoky, grimy feeling of _police station_ out of his skin and hair.  And if the image of Jody, sensors flickering up her toned arms and framing her deep brown eyes in a serene halo flickered across his shower fantasies once or twice, well.  This was Sam’s time to de-stress and no one else needed to be bothered. 

Sam was back in his robe, pulling on his socks when he heard a knock on the door.

“Sam,” his brother called, “You decent?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam responded, quickly tugging off towel he’d had his hair wrapped in, “Come on in.”

“Hey,” Dean greeted as he stepped into the room and Sam hung up his towel, running his fingers through his damp and tangled hair, “Can I interest you in a celebratory drink?”

“No way, man,” Sam grinned, “No more alien cocktails for me.”

“Who said anything about that?  I asked if you wanted a _drink_.”  Sam looked up to Dean holding out a bottle of very ordinary looking Jack Daniels. 

“Is that…” Sam thought for sure he was hallucinating.  Dean shrugged, shoulders easy under a velvety deep black button down.  A short time in alien prison seemed to have sobered Dean’s wardrobe, all black and deep charcoal except for a simple blue stone in the slide of his bolo tie.  Sam wasn’t a guy who dwelled much on appearances, but he had to admit the more muted colors did the best for his brother’s features.  Dean’s eyes were bright and his hair seemed to match the deep gold of the whiskey he was offering.  Sam couldn’t help but wonder how Dean’s complexion would have fared in the dry Kansas heat, or the California sun.

“Good old Jack.  Cas always used to bring it back for me when he went on his little brain vacations,” Dean told him, “So we’ve got a bit of a stash.  Guess it’s a lot more valuable now.  You in or not?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam agreed, “Sounds great.”

“Awesome.”  Dean’s smile was genuine, and Sam felt a rush of relief that his brother was finally warming up to him, “Ellen, you wanna queue up the big window?  I think Cas and Jody are already on the observation deck.  May as well make it a party.”

“I can arrange that,” Ellen’s phantom voice emanated from an unseen speaker, making Sam jump.

“Alrighty,” Dean quipped as he clapped Sam on the shoulder and led him into the hallway, “But first we are going to find you some pajama pants or something.  The Impala’s gorgeous, but she sure is drafty.”

Sam couldn’t help but agree and he soon found himself in a pair of very comfortable, if a slightly too short, old flannels of Dean’s as he followed his brother up a new spiral staircase where Cas and Jody waited for them with four short glasses and a few pillows strewn across the narrow walkway.  Sam was distracted from his warm knees when he saw what Dean had called the “Big window”.  Shaped like a fish eye lens, the monumental glass screen took the everyday panorama of space visible from the _Impala’s_ viewports and magnified it to new levels of breathtaking.  Distant galaxies and twinkling stars became nebulas of color and swirling tracts of light all across the ceiling.  Sam was mesmerized, and even Dean and Castiel, experienced space travelers that they were, seemed reverent gazing across violet, indigo, and magenta Universe unfolding before them.

“Makes the Hubble footage look like a shitty Polaroid,” Jody murmured, limbs relaxed as Sam plopped down against the railing between her and Dean.

“No kidding,” Sam agreed.

“Yeah,” Dean seconded, “I like this view a lot better than the PK holding tank.”

“I’m just grateful you didn’t get to see the rest of the facility,” Castiel murmured, nestling against his husband’s side.

“All thanks to you,” Dean replied, filling everyone’s glass with a healthy splash of gold whiskey, “All of you.  In fact…”  Setting aside the bottle, Dean raised his tumbler in a toast.

“To my intrepid crew,” he offered, clinking the foursome’s glasses together, “For saving my ass.”

The first sip of whiskey was like a ribbon of warmth in Sam’s belly, a pleasant contrast with the cool chrome at his back and a nice pairing with the warm bodies on either side of him.  It was a relief to know that along with bureaucracy and legal loopholes, sharing drink with your friends was also a Universal practice.

“To Jody,” Castiel said next, “For helping me keep it together.  Trust me when I say you averted the end of a few innocent lives today.”

“Jody!” Sam and Dean agreed, raising their glasses a second time before taking a long draught as Jody reached across to give Castiel a rare hug.

“Let’s be real here guys,” Jody argued, falling back against the railing beside Sam, “There was one real hero today.”

All three of them raised their glasses, and Sam was surprised to hear Jody continue, “Let’s hear it for Sam.”

“What?” Sam sputtered, “I barely had to do anything, really.”

“Dude, seriously,” Dean said with a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “You saved my life.”

“And my happiness,” Castiel added.

“And my source of employment,” Jody chimed in, promptly dissolving the solemn air as the whiskey flowed and laughter just as easily.  At that moment on the observation deck with the three people whom he’d met only a few short days ago, Sam felt more like part of a family than he ever had as part of a law firm or a college class, really since he was a very small child.  He only wished he could call it by that name, and have Dean know how true it really was.  Even so, for the first time since the destruction of Earth, Sam Winchester was well and truly happy.

“And to think I almost threw you off the ship,” Dean chuckled, “That woulda come back to bite me.”

“Well at least I’m useful,” Sam responded dryly, earning himself a smack to the back of his head. 

“You know what I meant.  I just… wish I’d known you longer, man,” Dean mused, consonants slurring pleasantly, “I feel like we could…I dunno, be like _brothers_ someday, y’know?”

We _are_ brothers, Sam thought loudly.

“You _are_ brothers,” Castiel said aloud. 

Sam choked on his whisky at the same time Dean growled, “ _What?_ ”

“Sam is your biological sibling,” Castiel elaborated, “I thought it might be important for you to know him, so I saved him from the Leviathan.”

The relaxed air on the observation deck suddenly became quite tense indeed.

“This sounds like it should be a private family moment,” Jody declared, hurriedly refilling her glass before hightailing it for the exit, “I’ll just go check on Ellen while you boys talk it out.  Glad you’re in one piece, Dean-o.”  Jody disappeared down the stairs, ruffling Dean’s hair as she passed.  The gesture would have been very sweet, except for the horrendous expression of shock written across Dean’s features.  The pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind Jody broke the spell as Dean leapt to his feet, Sam only just behind him.

“Cas, what the hell?” The brothers cried in unison.  Castiel shrugged.

“It was the right time,” he decided, rising gracefully.      

“Yeah, a little warning would have been nice,” Sam reproached before he realized his mistake as Dean switched gears from shocked to angry.

“You _knew_?” he practically shouted, “This whole time?”

“Only since Earth blew up,” Sam tried to soothe him, “I thought-“

“What?” Dean demanded, “What did you think?  ‘There goes Earth better go mooch off my alien brother?’”

“No! I swear I had no idea you were out here,” Sam said emphatically, “Until Cas came and found me I had no idea you were even alive.”

“Yeah, and where the hell did you think I went?” Dean snapped, “Do kids just wander off on Earth and never come back?”

“They took you!  I thought you were _dead_ ,” Sam voiced with old pain, “We thought you were abducted by some human psychopath and after five years the police wouldn’t even help us look anymore.”

“But,” Dean tried to object, “You never even _thought_ …”  Sam realized with despair that although Dean’s words were angry, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“Humans have almost no concept of space travel,” Castiel reminded him softly, “Even if Sam had been able to conceive the idea of actual alien abduction, he would have had no resources to pursue it.”

“But you found him,” Dean accused, turning to Castiel, “You knew I had a brother and you didn’t tell me?  And I’m guessing you made Sam keep it a secret?”  

“I knew your relationship with Earth and your concept of your birth family was conflicted,” Castiel supplied, “Especially after the destruction on the planet.  I wanted you to learn to trust Sam in his own right before I attempted to thrust the two of you into a familial relationship.”

Dean stammered wordlessly for a few minutes, and Sam could see his anger dissipating in the face of his husband’s logic. 

“Yeah, well,” Dean mumbled, “You’ve probably got me there.”

“And Sam did prove his worth, without any filial guilt on your part,” Castiel prompted.

“Yeah, he did,” Dean had to agree, “You totally did,” he assured Sam, “You were awesome back there.”

“I would have done the same for any of us,” Sam said, totally honest as was Sam Winchester’s way.

“I’m sorry I was dishonest with you, however temporarily,” Castiel continued, tracing Dean’s jaw with a wide palm, “But it was only out of concern for your happiness.”

“I’m a little pissed,” Dean admitted, covering Castiel’s hand with his own, “But I think we’ll work it out.”  With a wink Dean drew his husband’s palm to his lips and Castiel’s answering smile was one of relief and happiness.  After a moment he withdrew, making for the stairs Jody had taken shortly before. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk, I think,” Castiel decided.  He turned before heading back down to the bridge.  “Sam,” he said, with a slow smile, “I believe the correct saying here is ‘welcome to the family’.”

Castiel’s exit left a Seraph sized gap in the space between the two humans, and an elephant worth of awkward.  Dean seemed to be struggling to figure out the words he wanted, but he didn’t look angry, which was a good start, Sam decided.

“So you didn’t,” Dean began haltingly, “I mean-I guess you didn’t give me away.”

“Are you _kidding_?” Sam croaked, “All I wanted my whole life was my big brother back.”

That seemed to hit Dean harder than any of Sam’s previous revelations and Sam found himself engulfed in a rib-crushing hug.  Despite Sam’s height advantage, for the first time he really felt like the younger sibling, and he returned the hug with all the fraternal warmth he’d never been able to give in years previous.

“I’m here now,” Dean promised, clapping Sam on the back before withdrawing.  Sam could only nod, his eyes burning with his own share of long unshed tears.

“I’m gonna need to be a lot drunker for this conversation,” Dean said eventually, chuckling wetly as he wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeve. 

“No argument here,” Sam agreed, picking up the bottle of Jack as they reclaimed their seats on the floor.

A few liquid of ounces of whiskey in your belly has been known to do wonders for conversational skills. 

“How old am I?” Dean posed as he slouched against his brother.

“Jeez, maybe thirty?” Sam guessed, his own consonants slurring a little as he concentrated, “You’re birthday’s in January so yeah, like thirty and three months.”

“When’s your birthday?” Dean continued.

“May 2nd,” Sam answered, “I’ll be twenty-six.”

“So I _am_ the big brother here,” Dean grinned triumphantly, “All right.  That means I’m the boss of you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“That probably puts me in charge of your birthday party too,” Dean mused, “May isn’t that far off.”

“Sounds good,” Sam laughed, “Just no more alien biker bars.”

“Deal,” Dean promised.  Silence fell for a few moments.  Not a weird silence, like when you’re trapped in a room with a strange family member you’ve never really gotten to know and there’s nothing to look at besides shabby wall paper, but an alright silence, when you’re trapped in a room with a strange family member you’ve never gotten the chance to know and you have the entire Galaxy to stare at until you figure out your feelings.  Dean refilled his tumbler before offering the bottle to Sam who acquiesced.  The two sipped their whiskey shoulder to shoulder and watched the stars comfortably for a minute.

“We don’t really look alike,” Dean observed, studying Sam’s features critically. 

“Yeah, I guess we kind of split the parental genes fifty-fifty,” Sam laughed, but that only seemed to silence Dean again, his expression unreadable as he stared out at the stars.

“So… we have parents?  A mom?” Dean asked at last, in a voice that very much wanted for a mother. 

“We did,” Sam told him, “For a while, yeah.”

Dean of course, as the golden child of the Chevrolonian people, had been raised by sentient droids, which while very affectionate, did not have quite the same talent for simultaneous unconditional love and passive aggressive discipline that is exclusive to humans of the female persuasion.  As such, he was fascinated by Sam’s description of a woman who was never angry, only disappointed, whose genetics explained all of the feminine lines of Dean’s eyes and mouth, who gave him his green eyes, and Sam nine happy years of childhood before dying without any warning, as humans are wont to do.

Sam’s wallet, mainly useless with the destruction of Earth’s capital system, still contained one rectangle of paper and plastic fibers whose value had not been compromised.  It was a small photograph, printed before “acid free” paper had become a fad, already losing some of its more saturated blues in favor of an overall sepia tone.  (For centuries, historians writing their dissertations on pre-demolition Earth culture would misread these discolored images, assuming that some bizarre chemistry of Earth’s atmosphere had just made everything look that way.  Later, more clever and pop-culture aware historians would call this sepia assumption the Kansas Error.)  This photograph, with a clarity that has yet to be matched by any plasma screen, provided Dean with his first concrete image (discounting a few fuzzy and unsettling dreams from his adolescence, all but erased with the liberal application of alcohol) of Mary Winchester’s face.  Dean took the photo from Sam delicately, face pale.

“That’s her?”

 Sam nodded. 

“Sh-she’s…I mean, _wow_.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.  The loss of one’s home planet leaves a wound that most intergalactic psychiatrists agree will never fully heal, however, it is universally agreed that the loss of one’s mother is immeasurably worse.  Dean, having just recently gained a mother only to have her wrenched from his grasp almost as quickly, was feeling this pang rather sharply.  Sam tore his own eyes away from his mother’s face, allowing the tear making its course down Dean’s cheek to fall in anonymity.    

“The baby she’s holding,” Dean asked after a while, clearing his throat, “Is it you?”

“No,” Sam answered, studiously watching the galaxy unfurling through the observation window, “It’s you.”

After a while Sam left Dean on the observation deck, his brother ignoring the glorious expanse of the Universe in favor of stroking shaking fingers across the surface of a wrinkled and faded photograph.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new destination, but there's a big roadblock.

The next morning found Sam nursing an impressive hangover, aided only slightly by a large mug of Not-Coffee.  He found Dean and Castiel nestled together in a Captain’s loveseat on the navigation bridge, Castiel’s face tucked into the curve of Dean’s neck as they both cradled mugs of their own.  Dean was whispering something in Castiel’s ear which was causing the Seraph to blush a vibrant shade of magenta, though both parties straightened up somewhat at the echoing of Sam’s slippered feet on the stainless steel platform.

“Mornin’, little brother,” Dean greeted him.  He nodded towards the photograph Sam had lent him the night before, which was perched next to the navigation controls.  “I was just tellin’ Cas about our mom.”

Sam grinned.  “I’m _sure_ that’s was you were just telling him.”  Castiel, if possible, turned an even deeper pink, with Dean flushing to match.

“Well, I was tellin’ him about her until a few minutes ago, anyway,” Dean mumbled, straightening today’s jacket, a return to Dean’s usual flair in a quilted zigzag of black and gold lamé.  Other than its unusual pattern, the cut of it was not unlike the old leather jacket Sam remembered his father wearing on cold Kansas nights.  Dean wore it well, covering an eggplant shirt with an open collar and deep teal jeans.

“Dean and I have been talking,” Castiel spoke up, schooling his features back to their usual curious calm, “About his origins.  And you.”

“What’s this about?” Sam asked, leaning against the radar console. 

“I think I need to see Earth,” Dean declared.

Sam stared at the pair in confusion for a minute, as they both seemed to think this was a perfectly reasonable thing to decide upon.  Sam of course, being from an isolated planet like Earth, had never developed the kind of non-linear thinking that would allow a previously destroyed planet to be visited, so he chose his next words carefully, and with no small amount of puzzlement.

“Uh, I mean not that I’m not glad you’re into the idea,” Sam said, “’Cause I am, but isn’t the whole reason I’m here because Earth is…well, gone?”

“Yep, it is.  Totally annihilated,” Dean agreed, pulling up the ship’s communications module and ignoring Sam’s wince, “But I know a guy.”

“You know a guy that can get us a visit to a non-existent planet?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Only if he likes you,” Dean answered with a wink, “Ellen?  Ring up Bobby.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

When Dean said ‘ring up’, it turns out he meant it pretty literally.  Sam didn’t know Dean’s friend yet, but he was soon to find out that Bobby Singer believed in the old school.  One could even say Bobby Singer _invented_ the old school.

A dial tone hummed through the ship for a few seconds, before a series of beeps like buttons of a phone sounded, followed by a shrill ringing that would have been familiar to any Earth homeowner with a landline.

“Damn prehistoric communications systems,” Ellen grumbled while Dean and company waited patiently for the recipient of their call to pick up.

“Singer Repairs and Scrap Yard,” greeted a wizened, gruff voice, “You got Singer.”

“Bobby!” Dean responded enthusiastically, “How are you, you bastard?”

“Is that Dean?” came the crackling response, “Dean Winchester?”

“It’s me, you old coot,” Dean affirmed, “But you know I’m a Novak now.”

“So I hear,” Bobby shot back, “Not that I ever got an invite to that particular ceremony.  I’m guessing that means Cas is over there somewhere as well then?”

“Hello Bobby,” Castiel chimed in, “It’s good to hear from you again.”

“Hey, you called me,” Bobby reminded, “So what can I help you boys with, or did you finally just call to check in on me in my old age?”

“Well I’d tell you if I could get a look at you,” Dean confessed, “Can’t you get the screen working, or is it too high tech for you?”

“You mind your tongue,” Bobby grumbled, “I practically invented this shit, they just keep moving the button every time I get the hold of the upgrades.”  There was the sound of scrabbling wires for a moment before one of the com screens lit up and focused in on a very average looking old man in a ragged baseball cap.

“Is he human too?” Sam asked before he thought.

“Hardly,” Castiel smirked.

“So I’m willing to bet you’ve already heard about Earth,” Dean began.

“Don’t I know all about it,” Bobby said reluctantly, “Impressive, those Leviathan.  Sadistic bastards, but damn they work clean.”

“Yeah, A plus for them,” Dean grumbled, “Anyways, in case you didn’t know that’s where I’m from.  Originally.”

“Uh huh.  Is this the part where I say ‘no shit’?  Cause I-“

“Shaddup,” Dean shot back, “The point is, I’ve just recently had a bit of a family reunion-“ Sam waved tentatively from behind Jody as Bobby shot him an appraising look “-and to be honest I may be _slightly_ regretting never having visited the homeland.  I was wondering if, you know, you could help us out at all.”

“That depends what you have in mind,” Bobby responded, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

“We were hoping to spend some time among humans,” Castiel chimed in, “Dean would like to experience his people, and I’m sure Sam and Jody would appreciate some closure.”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ maybe we could step one dimension to the left or somethin’,” Dean posed, “Maybe all the trees would be a different color or whatever, but at least I’d get the general idea.”

Sam knew on Earth that there were at least three television shows about what a terrible idea that was, but he kept his opinion to himself.  Dean was the interplanetary space adventurer here, after all.

“Whaddya think, Bobby?” Dean asked into the microphone, “Can it be done?”

“You are makin’ this way more complicated than it needs to be, son,” Bobby harrumphed, “I know a way to Earth that’ll be a hell of a lot neater than inter-dimensional travel.”

“Not time travel?” Dean assumed, “You know we don’t fuck around with that.  Not after last time.”

That got Sam curious, but Bobby’s chuckle interrupted his unasked question.

“Naw, you two are still thinking too hard.”

“Then what are you talking about?” Castiel asked from nearby, but Bobby shook his head.

“It’s too sensitive for the airwaves, boys,” the scrap keeper continued, “Y’all are gonna have to come here.”

“We’re on opposite sides of a Peace Keeping hot spot,” Dean grimaced, “And we’re kind of on the lam right now.”

“Trust me,” Bobby assured them, “It’ll be worth the trip.  You wanna see the motherland or not?”

Dean glanced first at Sam, who shrugged, then at Castiel, who took his hand with a firm nod.  He sighed.

“Somebody wake up Jody,” Dean ordered, “Looks like we’re heading back into enemy territory.  We’ll be there, Bobby.”

“Alrighty, I’ll leave the porch light on for ya.”

“Sounds good.”   The com screen closed just as Sam heard a pneumatic hiss accompanied by a loud yawn from behind them. 

“Somebody call me?”  Jody asked, appearance impeccable as usual except for a new set of bags under her eyes and the wrinkled brow that screamed “alcohol induced migraine.”  She had a robe of her own tossed over her usual slim-fit and functional grey jumpsuit, and a steaming mug in her hands, both of which Sam guessed were for additional comfort against the brightly lit and noisy ship.

“You and Ellen party hard last night?” Dean teased, ducking Jody’s wild swing.

“Stick it in a Rugaru’s meat pile, Novak,” she shot back, taking a long draught of Not Coffee and massaging her temples.  Sam winced in solidarity, envious of Castiel’s metabolism and Dean’s equally impressive tolerance.  Fortunately the ship had a fully equipped medicine cabinet, and Ellen dispensed Sam and Jody a healthy dose of ibuprofen in short order.  Forty-five minutes and a hot, greasy breakfast later (Jody had been correct in her assessment of Dean’s cooking skills.  For having never been to Earth, his pancakes could beat most of the diners Sam had been to in his life.) all hangovers had been assuaged and there was a healthy thrum of excitement over Bobby’s vague promise of seeing Earth again.  They drifted on the navigation deck, Dean in a constant dialogue with Ellen over trajectories and fuel status while Jody kept a vigilant eye on any approaching adversaries.  Sam conversed with Castiel, splitting his attention between the Seraph’s words and the mesmerizing flow of hyperspace past the _Impala’s_ viewing screens.

They had been traveling uninterrupted for a few hours when they were intercepted.

A strange jolt reverberated through the ship, and Sam glanced at the comet trails of stars passing by through the glass observation window. 

“Uh, guys,” he called to the rest of the crew, “Does it seem like we’re slowing down?”  Another shuddering jolt echoed across the deck as Dean looked up in alarm and Jody’s weapons matrix activated. 

“Ellen?” Dean inquired, stepping up to a shaking screen, “What in the hell’s going on?”

“We’re bein’ pulled out of hyperspace, Captain,” Ellen announced, “Somebody’s killing our drives.”

“Jo?” Castiel stepped up to another screen, “What’s happening down there?”

Jo’s chrome visage appeared on one of the primary screens, standing in front of a pile of clearly laboring machinery that Sam guessed must be the ships engines.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jo insisted, “Except we’re not getting anywhere.  The drive is trying to run but something’s pushing back.”

“Shut ‘em down,” Dean commanded, jaw tight, “We’re overpowered.  If we let the engines run it’ll just grind our gears down.”

“Alright but it’s gonna take a few minutes since we’ve gotta cut ‘em manually,” Jo warned.

“That’s probably good,” Dean grunted, “Give us a second to rally our defenses.”

“Against who?” Sam asked, as Jody started calibrating weapon screens.

“Three guesses,” Dean grunted.  Castiel slumped, moving to his husband resignedly.

“Dean,” Sam could hear him whispering, “This is really getting out of hand.  Isn’t there something…”

“There’s nothing, Cas,” Dean snapped, “Your mine, and I’m yours and she needs to get over it.”

“Uh, guys?” Sam interrupted, “Care to share with the group?”

Dean shook his head fiercely, but Castiel ignored him, turning to Sam and Jody.

“It’s about Naomi,” Castiel divulged, “And why she’s always after Dean.”

“The Peacekeeper lady?”   Dean’s head dropped to the command board in defeat before he turned, crossing his arms over his chest where he stood next to Cas.

“She’s not just the head of the Peacekeepers,” Dean revealed.

“Naomi is…my aunt,” Castiel admitted, “My only living relative.”

“And she’s always hated my guts,” Dean added.  Castiel shrugged in reluctant agreement.

“Wait,” Sam posed, “So this whole thing.  Arresting Dean, attacking the ship, it’s all part of some weird…family feud?”

“Not exactly…” Castiel murmured with a pointed look at his husband.

“ _Ugh,”_ Dean groaned, rubbing at his eyes in frustration, “Alright, cards on the table.”

Dean paced the length of the bridge and back while Sam waited anxiously, thigh bouncing as whirring of the ship’s hyperdrive slowed at an agonizing pace.

“I,” Dean began, “am a good starship pilot.  I’m a pretty good cook, and Cas can attest to my skills as a lover-“

“ _Dean._ ”

“But I’m not a very good diplomat,” Dean admitted, “And I may have _slightly_ -“

“Grievously,” Castiel corrected.

“ _Accidentally_ ,” Dean emphasized, “Insulted Naomi when Cas and I decided to get serious.”

“We’re lucky it didn’t end in all out war between our peoples,” Castiel added, explaining to Sam, “Fortunately I’m only twenty-third in line for Eden’s throne so it wasn’t the snafu it could have been.”

“This is one I haven’t heard before,” Jody chirped, listening attentively even as she primed the _Impala_ ’s shields.

“What did Dean _do_?” Sam asked.

“ _We_ ,” Castiel emphasized carefully, “Eloped.”

“But I thought you guys got married the Seraph way,” Sam stated.

“We did,” Castiel cut in, “In secret.  But Dean didn’t ask Naomi’s permission-“

“Even though _Cas_ freakin’ proposed,” Dean muttered.

“-so she won’t recognize the marriage on our family tree,” Castiel continued, “And she considers me to have been married against the will of the family, and therefore against my own will.”

“So that’s why she keeps trying to get Dean arrested,” Sam guessed, “Because on your home planet…”

“Dean could be convicted for kidnapping,” Castiel finished, “Even though Naomi knows full well I initiated the relationship.”

“It’s a load of shit,” Dean grumbled.

“But it’s an _ancient_ load of shit,” Castiel cut him off, “So the Peacekeepers take it seriously, even though it’s a horrendous abuse of Naomi’s power.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam objected, “Why didn’t she back off when Dean apologized?”

Both men looked at Sam blankly, Dean fidgeting uncomfortably.

“You _did_ try just saying you were sorry,” Sam asked, “Like that was the first thing you tried, _right?”_

Dean’s expression was grumpy at best, and Castiel was doing his utmost not to meet Sam’s eye, and the Seraph capacity for evasive eye contact is legendary.  Jody let out a low whistle, and Sam ran his hands through his hair. 

“Goddammit,” Sam muttered, “Ellen, could you pull up a com screen or something?”

With a reluctant nod from Dean Ellen shifted the holoscreens to pull up a communication deck.

“Alright,” Sam continued, “When we drop out of hyperspace I want you to hail Naomi’s ship and see if they’ll talk to us.”

“There should probably be a please somewhere in that sentence,” Ellen grumbled despite the activating radio signals on the board in front of Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam agreed before addressing his brother and his brother-in-law, “We are gonna work this out, right now, with _words_.  I’ll try and mediate but you,” Sam indicated a sullen Dean, “are going to apologize, and if that doesn’t work, you,” he pointed at Castiel, “are gonna tell your aunt to back off, and let you live your life like the legal adult I assume you are.”

“But-“ Dean tried to object.

“No buts,” Sam cut him off, “You almost _died_.  Naomi is literally pulling us out of the sky because you two let this get so far out of hand.  Now get it together and end the insanity.”

There was a brief silence, wherein Dean looked offended and Castiel looked frankly impressed.  With a nudge from his husband Dean finally capitulated, rubbing the back of his neck with a shamefaced grin.

“Wow Sammy,” he joked, “I got all tingly when you took control like that.”  Dean yelped as Sam cuffed him for his cheek, eyes widening momentarily in shock before he split a predatory grin and tackled his brother to the deck.  The brief tussle that followed, while perhaps a little immature for two grown men, was in fact a very typical practice among human brothers.  Dean, despite his slight scale disadvantage, soon had Sam pinned in a classic headlock while Castiel and Jody looked on in mild exasperation, sharing silently the sentiment _well at least they’re talking_. 

“Whenever you boys are finished,” Ellen interrupted Dean giving Sam a thorough noogie, “We’re about to come face to face with whatever’s waitin’ for us.” 

Instantly the playful air sobered, and Dean offered Sam a hand up as he shook out his garish coat before moving to stand with Castiel, who was looking resigned to a very much unwanted family meeting.

 The streaking light outside the ship faded and the _Impala_ dropped out of hyper space to be greeted by a massive vessel, decorated with the black Peace Keeper’s logo and an unhealthy amount of weaponry.  Sam realized with a lurch that the ship seemed fully prepared to shoot them out of the air, all guns crackling in the view screen, fully primed and targeted at the much smaller _Impala._

“Our guns aren’t gonna do much against a ship that size,” Jody warned.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, horrified, “Will she actually attack us?”

Castiel’s face was practically distraught. 

“Even if the ship is compromised,” he explained, “Naomi knows I would survive in the vacuum long enough to be rescued.”  _At the expense of your lives_ , went unspoken.  Dean’s face paled at the implication but his expression hardened in resolve.

“Hail her, Ellen,” Dean ordered reluctantly, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Thanks Dean,” Sam said, relieved.

“I may be proud, but my family comes first,” Dean responded emphatically, indicating Sam and Jody both, “ _All_ of it.”

“Making contact,” Ellen announced.

“Okay,” Sam told the group, “I’ll start things off.  I’m a neutral face, which will hopefully keep everybody calm until Dean steps up.”

Dean grunted in agreement while Castiel nodded solemnly.  One of the com screens flashed to life, while a stern voice broke through the static.  Sam waited for the screen to settle, then realized that the image was fully present, and the flashing light was simply Castiel’s aunt in a non-corporeal form.

“You have Naomi Milton of Eden,” a sharp alto introduced, “To whom am I speaking?”

“Naomi, hello,” Sam began, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible, “I’m Sam Winchester, and I’m here to help mediate the situation you have with Dean and Castiel.”

“And did Dean kidnap you as well?” Naomi asked archly, and Sam shook the ringing from his ears as Dean laid a restraining hand on Castiel’s arm.

“I’m Dean’s brother,” Sam explained, “And I’m new to this whole situation, but I understand there’s been some insensitivity on both sides of this-“

Castiel shook his head fiercely as Naomi rippled, her light flaring like a sunspot in Sam’s vision.

“-But uh, the point is,” Sam continued, “Your nephew…in-law, uh, Dean, that is, has something he wants to say.  Eye to eye, if at all possible.”

Naomi flickered, and for a dangerous moment Sam thought she might refuse.  Luckily after a beat of tension the Seraph withdrew her non-corporeal form, solidifying into a beautiful but stern older woman.  Naomi adjusted her crisp white collar and charcoal blazer before waving a munificent hand.

“I will hear him,” she allowed, eyes glacier grey as Dean stepped up to the monitor.

“Naomi,” Dean greeted, steadying himself on the dashboard. 

“Dean Winchester,” Naomi acknowledged coldly.

“Actually, it’s Novak,” Dean corrected through gritted teeth, “But then again that’s part of the problem here, and some of that’s on me.” 

“Go on,” Naomi allowed, raising one perfectly sculpted brow.

“Me and Cas,” Dean continued, “In retrospect I guess we rushed a few of the more formal stages of our relationship, and, I didn’t know at the time that it would be as serious a problem between the three of us as it’s become, but I didn’t exactly encourage Cas to slow down and explain it to me either.”

Sam could tell Dean was chafing under Naomi’s condescending stare, but his brother was doing his best, despite his white knuckled grip on the control panel.

“I’m not sorry for loving Cas, and I’m _not_ sorry I married him-ow!-,” Dean declared, though his voice lost some of its venom after a well placed elbow from Castiel, “But I am sorry I ignored your customs, and I’m...uh…I’m sorry I insulted you.”

“I appreciate that,” Naomi said graciously, “It was a thoughtless oversight on your part.”

“And like I said, my bad,” Dean responded carefully, “So if we could all move on now, that would be great.”

“I agree,” Naomi concurred, and Jody looked at Sam in confusion.  This was going too easy. “Castiel, as soon as you come onboard we can return to Eden and you can be reunited with our family.”

And there it was.  Castiel’s eyes flared, but he was nothing compared to Dean.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked dangerously, “Castiel is already _with_ his family.”

“Please,” Naomi scoffed, “Your marriage is hardly valid according to Seraph traditions-“

“Well according to _my_ traditions,” Dean shot back, “Cas and I said our ‘I do’s and that means forever, and I would _appreciate_ it if you would respect my people’s ways the way I’m trying to do for yours.”

“Release my nephew into my custody or I will be forced to destroy your ship and rescue him myself,” Naomi demanded.  Dean opened his mouth to respond but Castiel shoved him aside.

“Naomi, please, stand down,” he asserted, “The Impala is not a threat to you and neither is Dean.  There’s no need for this.”

“Castiel, you are blinded by this infatuation,” Naomi spat, “This… _man_ has flouted our ways-“

“That’s as much my fault as Dean’s and he’s apologizedanyway,” Cas objected, exasperated, “You’re abusing Peacekeeping resources on this _vendetta_ -“

“I’m _trying_ to take care of my family,” Naomi interrupted, “You are highborn and you deserve-“

“Naomi, _enough_ ,” Castiel growled, “I love Dean.  He is my _husband_ , and if you aren’t satisfied with my choice in partner you can bring it up at our next family reunion but this game of cat and mouse is going to stop, _now._ ”

The Peacekeeper’s cannons continued to spark, ready to blow the _Impala_ out of the star cluster, but Naomi’s response was hesitant.

“Castiel…” crackled her voice over the intercom, “I had no idea you felt so strongly about this.”

 _Ugh, no shit,_ Sam could see Dean mouthing silently, but fortunately his face was just out of Naomi’s range of vision.

“This is not my rebellious phase,” Castiel informed her, “This is my _life_ , and I would like you to remain a part of it, but if this pursuit continues Dean and I will have no choice but to cut off contact with you, and Eden for the rest of our time together.”

“You can’t-“

“I _can_ ,” Castiel emphasized, “Dean is my family.  I want him to be your family too.”

Naomi looked conflicted, and it appeared Castiel had the upper hand in the conversation.

“You will acknowledge our marriage on the family records,” Castiel stated calmly, “Or you can remove me from them.  That is where we stand.”

The tension was rife as Castiel’s aunt considered his ultimatum.  Despite Castiel’s calm demeanor Sam could see the vice grip he had on Dean’s hand just out of Naomi’s range of vision.  Finally Naomi exhaled sharply, and she didn’t look pleased, but her next words carried the unmistakable air of defeat.

“I still have my doubts,” Naomi declared, though her gaze had softened, “But whenever you see fit to return to Eden, you…and your husband, you will be welcomed.  And… I promise I will listen.”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Thank you, Naomi,” Castiel continued, “I’m relieved that family is still the Seraph priority.”

“As always, Castiel,” Naomi responded in turn, “I hope to see you again soon, under less conflicted circumstances.”

Castiel nodded before Ellen cut the feed and everyone on deck let out a tense breath.  

“ _Chevrolet_ , that is one scary lady,” Dean groaned, practically collapsing on Castiel, “Sammy, I take back everything I said about diplomacy.  You called that one.”

“Thanks, thought it was pretty touch and go there,” Sam observed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the deck railing, “I see where you get your intensity from, Cas.” 

“If I have my way,” Castiel agreed, “That’s the most any of us will see of her for a very long time.”

“You did great, babe,” Dean quipped, slapping a kiss on Castiel’s temple before calling out to the ship’s motherboard, “Ellen?  Let’s get back on course.”

* * *

 

Having been assured by his brother that a bathrobe was perfectly acceptable garb for everyday travel in the greater Universe, Sam was resting warm and comfortably against the guard rail of the navigation deck when a cluster of several planets were revealed on the _Impala_ ’s viewing screens.  The planets were poorly lit, with no stars to be found as a source of light or gravitational pull, and seemed to be surrounded by smaller clouds of debris that looked like particularly formed asteroids.

They drew closer as the _Impala_ dropped out of hyperspace, voluntarily this time.  Sam still couldn’t glean any greater details of the planets’ surfaces, almost as if they were intentionally shrouded, like a car covered in a tarp to protect it from inclement weather.  However, Sam found himself pressing close to a window to get a closer look at the “asteroids” dispersed seemingly at random in the space around the strange planets.  Upon nearer inspection Sam realized that they were flying into a “scrap yard” of landmasses.  Islands, fjords, peninsulas, they spun self-contained in the void around the unknown planets, each with their own slice of crust waiting to be linked to others like puzzle pieces.  Some were tethered in pairs or groupings, and some floated alone, their rocky surfaces waiting for companions or a magma core to stick to.  Some appeared carved from the same rock and soil as Earth, some had mineral compositions unlike any Sam had ever seen, their crusts layering in bold stripes of blue and magenta. 

“Uh, Dean?” Sam asked as they navigated between two linked sets of continents, “Where are we?”

“We’re pulling up to Bobby’s workshop,” Dean told him, “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, taking in a fully formed but thankfully inactive volcanic island floating past them, “But what does Bobby _do_ , exactly?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean laughed, tapping on a holoscreen as they approached a tiny, ramshackle moon, “I forgot you don’t know.  Cas?”

“Planets,” Castiel informed Sam gravely, “Bobby builds planets.”

* * *

 

Dick Roman was nothing if not devoted to obliterating the competition, and Crowley loved that about the slimy bastard.  He’d been worried Dick would grow impatient, following that hunk of junk Chevrolonian ship to that sleazy bar, then to a _prison_ for Pete’s sake, but one intercepted transmission had made it all worthwhile.  It was a lot of trouble over four life-forms, but the Leviathan were renowned for their thoroughness.  Crowley hummed contentedly in his office onboard the Leviathan flag ship, hovering just beyond the _Impala’s_ detection range.  He thought about pouring himself a scotch in celebration.

 Singer the planet builder.  That could only mean one thing, and Crowley knew exactly how it would all play out.  All he had to do was keep an eye out, press a few buttons at the proper moment, and everybody was gonna go home happy.  Especially him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Bobby Singer: whiskey enthusiast, greater deity, and planet builder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, patriots, space explorers! I have completed all writing of this fic! With some minor editing I will be posting everyday until it's completion. Thank you so much for joining me on this adventure, and I hope to read more of your great comments soon!

_Bobby Singer is one of the old guard.  Multiple scholars have spent their lifetimes attempting to count his age in numbers and died before completing the task, and still the world builder lives on.  Fortunately the semi-omniscient cosmic entity prefers his privacy, and spends most of his time in his workshop, which he built himself on a small, untethered moon, orbiting whatever planet he is working on that century.  Planet construction (and repairs, if you’re on his good list) is not exactly a profitable business, given the expenses entailed, but, hey, when you live forever and you’re good with your hands, how the hell else do you spend your time?  Singer has spend untold millennia taking advantage of wealthy morons, aiding reverent diasporas, and stacking up an impressive black book of favors from neighbor deities, such as Athabaskan, Jehovah, and Hactar._

“Where did you guys meet a god?” Sam asked incredulously as they disembarked onto hard dirt and tough grass.  The crew followed Dean up a concrete path to a worn but well-kept old house.

“We broke down around here once,” Dean told him, “Luckily we got caught in the orbit of one of Bobby’s works in progress and he fished us in.”

“Our atmosphere had been compromised and my powers weren’t enough to sustain Dean for any duration of time,” Castiel continued, “Bobby restored the Impala and brought Dean back from a state of near death.”

“Jesus.  He looked like a regular guy,” Sam wondered, “I mean, for all appearances…”  Castiel smirked as they reached the house’s main entrance, stepping up creaking stairs onto a front porch with a worn rag rug and peeling paint.

“’Appearance’ is always a key word, Sam,” Castiel warned as Dean rang the doorbell.

“I’m beginning to pick up on that,” Sam muttered, “So if you guys know a god who makes planets, why didn’t call him up before now?”

“That would be because ordering a planet costs more money than you or I could even think of,” Dean explained, “And you have to commission way in advance, or we’d be like a hundred by the time it was finished.”

“Oh.”  Sam couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed, but Bobby had promised a way to see Earth and Dean seemed to trust him, so Sam was willing to assume he was on the level.  Dean was raising his hand to press the doorbell a second time when there came a shout from within the house.

“Hold ‘yer horses, I’m comin’!” hollered a gravelly voice that Sam recognized as Bobby, “If that’s Thor you better have my goddamn money or I’m-“

“Hey Bobby,” Dean greeted, “Expecting somebody else?”

“Never cosign on a loan for an Asgardian,” Bobby advised sternly before pulling Dean into a backslapping hug, “Good to see you, boy.”

“You too Bobby,” Dean returned, stepping back, “You know Cas, and you remember Jody?”

“Course,” Bobby scowled, waving them inside, “Your genius weapons officer and the Seraph who married you without my permission.”

“Don’t start,” Jody warned, “We just got over that particular hurdle on Cas’ side of the family.”

“Sound like a good story,” Bobby guessed, adjusting his cap as he shook Sam’s hand, “And you must be the new brother.”

“Yeah, I’m Sam,” he confirmed as Bobby glanced between him and Dean critically.

“Looks like you got the brunt of your daddy’s genetics,” the old man observed.

“How do you know that?” Sam asked, perplexed, and half expecting his father to come around the corner.

“I know a lotta things,” Bobby shrugged, “Come on in.” 

The screen door slammed behind him as Sam followed Bobby into a narrow foyer.  Multiple open doorways branched out of the entryway, one giving a glimpse of a very ordinary looking kitchen and one into a room filled floor to ceiling with books.

“We’re headin’ this way,” Bobby said, indicating a short hallway as he ushered the group forward.

“By the way,” Bobby said gruffly, but with a twinkle in his eye, “Nice robe”.  Sam heard Dean guffaw and Jody chuckle a few feet down the hall and knew he’d been had.  He shook his head, rolling his eyes.  He _had_ said Dean would need to step his game up.

“Come on through to the garage,” Bobby directed, opening a side door that led out into a cool, dark workshop.  Fluorescent lights buzzed to life, revealing a room full of long tables, covered in everything from exposed electrical wiring to geological striation samples.  One table was actually a shallow aquatic tank, holding what looked like a miniature version of the Great Barrier Reef.  The walls seemed close, but Sam realized it was because they were covered, floor to ceiling, in computers.  Holoscreens beeped and buzzed, nestled in between massive modems and attached hard drives.  What little negative space there was was filled with filing cabinets and more books, one or two in Earthly languages, but mostly filled with scripts that Sam had never even imagined.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Bobby was saying as Sam drifted back into the conversation, “Honestly I was waitin’ on a call from you since you heard about Earth but it figures you’d be a stubborn one.”

“How’d you hear about it anyways?” Dean asked, “Earth doesn’t exactly make Galactic Times headlines.”   

“My old buddy Rufus was doing some repairs on Haley’s comet when he saw the whole episode,” Bobby explained, “He let me know I might be getting some bargain hunters looking for a resale.  I’ve been laying low ever since.”

“Resale of what?” Sam asked.

“That,” Bobby answered, “is the question I made you fly across three solar systems to answer.”

Bobby plopped down into a vacant office chair, spinning to access a low drawer on an ancient looking filing cabinet.  From the very front of the drawer he pulled a folder stuffed full of papers.  He handed the weighty file to Sam, of all people, and indicated its contents with a wave of his hand.

“There’s some information in there that might be pertinent you ya,” Bobby encouraged, nodding with a glint in his eye.

Sam flipped through the file Bobby had practically thrust at him.  The first few pages were meaningless gibberish, a rune system of writing that Sam had no chance of deciphering, but then he started to see small thumbnail sketches in the corners of worksheets.  Stapled sets of schematics followed, blueprints for increasingly familiar landmasses and monuments.  A few finally caught Sam’s eye and the pieces began to fall into place.

“That’s,” Sam declared, gaze caught on a well known landmark, “That’s the Golden Gate Bridge.  And these are the Florida keys!”  He indicated one of the previous drawings, recognizing numbered humidity scales and weather maps among the unknown writing.  He flipped rapidly through the rest of the folder to see the last page, with a nearly spherical illustration, roughly sketched in with blue and green pencil and an attached check for an obscene amount of money.

“The Great Lakes, the Rocky Mountains, Mount Rushmore,” Sam breathed, looking between Jody and Dean in awestruck wonder, “These are blueprints for _Earth.”_

“Yeah, and pretty good ones too,” Bobby chuckled, “If I do say so myself.  I mean Hawaii’s gonna end up a few feet to the left but-“

“Wait,” Jody interrupted, “So you’ve got Earth…2.0 in your shed right now?”

“In the back yard, technically,” Bobby told her, indicating one of the dim planets hovering outside the back windows, “I’ve had the order for a few decades now, got enough payments to start the construction.”

“A few decades,” Sam repeated.

“Yep,” Bobby confirmed, “I got the first paperwork back in…if we’re talking Earth time…1935?  Sounds about right.”   

“But, nobody from Earth had contact with the rest of the Galaxy,” Sam objected, “When I left we could barely get people to the Moon and back, let alone order a planet.”

“Well obviously _somebody_ figured it out,” Bobby shot back, “They declined to share their activities with the rest of the mud crawlers, but these Men of Letters were preparing for Armageddon, and for good reason, as it turns out.”

“Men of Letters?” Sam repeated.

“Yeah that’s what they called their super secret boy band,” Bobby confirmed.

“A secret society?” Jody guessed. 

“Yup,” Bobby agreed, “I had a couple of ‘em vying for the privilege.  The Thule nearly won out, but the Men of Letters had the cash to pin down the contract.”

“Where’d a bunch of Earthlings get the funds to commission a planet?” Dean wondered, looking out the window at the darkened Earth 2.0.

“Indeed,” Castiel mused, “The Earth I had been working on was in the throes of financial crisis.  It seems unlikely they would be able to organize the money necessary purchase the materials.”

“Yeah, and I bet you think the American crash in ’07 was ‘cause a corrupt bankers,” Bobby scoffed, “It was the good ‘ole MoL cashing in their stocks to put a down payment on Earth 2.0.  Euro zone crisis?  More like the Euro zone mortgage.” 

Somehow Sam was not at all surprised that funding the construction of a back-up Earth had nearly bankrupted two continents.  In fact it seemed like a pretty good bargain.  The unlit expanse of Earth hovered on the horizon out Bobby’s window, a dusky grey visage not unlike the images Sam remembered from his high school science classes sent from astronauts seeing Earth from the outside for the first time.  It was a monolith.  The moon that Bobby’s workshop was built on could be a tennis ball compared to the size of Earth-2 and Bobby had built it with his own two hands.  Sam rejoined the conversation to hear Bobby answering a question from Jody. 

“Eh, the real heavyweight stuff gets ordered in,” Bobby explained, “But by the time you get down to the nuts and bolts, it’s mostly scraps, odd bits, and pocket lint.”  The old man’s gaze seemed to focus on Sam’s left pocket for a moment, and his eyes lit up in confirmation of something.  Sam fidgeted self-consciously, hands fiddling with a torn thread in his pocket inseam and the miniature rainbow slinky that he’d nearly forgotten lifting from the Research room of the _Impala._

 _“_ What about the people?” Sam posed, “Having the landscape back is great, but there were 6 billion of us.”

“You think I don’t know my job, boy?” Bobby scowled, “I’ve got ‘em all programmed back in.”

“Programmed?”

Bobby shrugged.  “Binary code, DNA code, it’s apples to apples when you’re older than most of creation,” he said casually, “It’s labor intensive, but not that hard.”   

“But how could humanity ever finish paying something like that off?” Sam asked, ludicrous thoughts of a species wide mortgage playing though his mind.  Bobby chuckled, as if he could read Sam’s mind.  Which he could, but Sam, being mortal, assumed Bobby just had good intuition. 

“That’s the magic of a young planet, son,” the world builder informed him, adjusting his ragged trucker hat, “Self-contained economy.  I’ll skim a little off the top for a few years, just what I need to cover my materials, and by the time you all finally get to interplanetary trade you won’t even remember anything was missin’.”

“How soon will it be finished?” Jody chimed in, looking around as if Bobby had the planet tucked under a tarp somewhere.

“Already is,” Bobby told her, “I’ve just been waiting for the order to be claimed so I can activate the bio-matrix.”

“Claimed?”  Sam repeated uncertainly.

“Yup,” Bobby continued, “Just need proof of life from one guy and one gal for the computer and then I get to press the big blue button.  Since you all are here I’m willin’ if you are.”

With no further ado Bobby moved to the opposite wall of the workshop, pulling levers and pushing buttons that jutted from the wall like accessories to a massive computer.  A long panel flipped out from a hidden compartment, covered in large red buttons while several printers started to whir, drawing out readings and statistics which Bobby examined carefully while waiting for the group to come to a decision.

“Well I guess I’m up to bat, then,” Jody figured, looking at Dean and Sam, “You two wanna rock paper scissors for it or what?”

Sam was all set to throw down, but Dean shook his head and stepped back beside his husband.  “No need,” he ceded.

“Dean, are you sure?” Sam asked.  Dean could have the chance to play an active role in the formation of the planet, and he was giving it up without a second thought.

“Like I said,” Dean protested, slapping Sam on the back, “I’m no Earthling.  This one’s on you, Sammy.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed uncertainly, “Thanks.”

“So how ‘bout it?” Bobby asked from across the workspace, “You two ready for a little Adam and Eve action?”  Probably catching the expression on Jody’s face, Bobby quickly scowled.

“Nothin’ like _that_ , ya idjits,” he grumbled, “Just get over here and press the button when I tell you.”

Sam approached the wide panel Bobby had indicated with trepidation, Jody likewise beside him.  There was a row of red pulsing hemispheres, and Sam wondered momentarily why there were so many, but he just as swiftly came to the realization that in all likelihood given the number of different alien species in the Universe, Bobby would probably be prepared for more than two biological genders when it came to planet activating. 

“Alright, go ahead,” Bobby continued, “It’s gonna be sticky, but I need a full set of fingerprints for authorization.”

“Here goes nothin’,” Jody shrugged as they reached for the bulbous red pads.

“You might feel a slight tingle,” Bobby warned, just before Sam’s skin made contact with the red gel and a ripple of electricity pulsed down his spine.  He felt Jody shudder next to him and felt a flash of alarm.

“’Slight tingle’ my ass,” Jody swore through gritted teeth, her hair standing on end as the machines in front of Bobby started beeping emphatically. 

Sam released a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding as Bobby reached for the luminous button that would revive Earth.  A hand that he realized belonged to Jody clutched Sam’s elbow, and he was glad to know he wasn’t the only human in the room with baited breath.  Bobby was a hair’s breadth away from the activation pad when he frowned, and Sam heard Dean’s surprised expletive as Castiel stiffened beside him.  In the background Sam could just make out a faint humming that hadn’t been there before.

“That’s not a good sound,” Bobby announced cautiously, sliding the button back under its plastic hatch just as a wash of painful, all too familiar feedback tore through the workshop.

“What in the hell?” Bobby cursed, rushing to one of the front windows.

“Attention resident!” Announced a cheerful, sadistic voice, “You are harboring the fugitives of an incomplete demolition project!  We have their starship and have confirmed their presence with thermo technology.”

“Somebody wanna explain why there’s a Leviathan demolition cruiser parked on my lawn?” Bobby hollered, slamming a few buttons as buzzing, translucent shields blossomed over the building’s exterior, covering the windows in a pearlescent glow.  Castiel had gone white as a sheet, and Sam had a feeling his own expression wasn’t much different.

“They must have followed us,” Sam guessed as Dick Roman’s oily threats continued to ring through the space. 

“Surrender any humans on your premises, along with the Seraph Castiel, or we will be forced to annihilate your property and everyone on it!  Thank you for your cooperation!”

“We can take back the ship,” Jody offered, sensors lighting up orange in preparation for intruder protocols, “Escape before they notice Earth.”

Castiel shook his head.  “If we attempt to reclaim the _Impala_ we will be killed _,”_ he declared flatly, “I don’t have the power to take on that many, and a phaser will only stun them momentarily.”

“Can you do somethin’, Bobby?” Dean asked as Jody’s brow lit orange.  Dean’s limbs were practically shaking, everything in his being demanding that he go defend his territory.  Luckily this time he paid attention when Castiel grabbed his hand reassuringly.

“Sorry son,” Bobby said, raising his hands, “I’m a non-combatant.  I’m damn near indestructible, but I can’t lift a finger to blow those worms outta the air.”

“But,” Sam protested, but Bobby shook his head firmly.

“But nothing,” Bobby said sharply, “I could stand smack dab between the lot of ya and the ricochet alone from trying to get me would kill you all before I could do a damn thing.”

“Can you put us on their ship?” Castiel asked suddenly, turning to Bobby urgently.

“Cas, what are you talking about?” Sam demanded, but Castiel ignored him, waiting for Bobby’s answer.

“I can try,” Bobby huffed, “But it’s a risky business.  You could end up anywhere.”

“Do it,” Castiel entreated.

“Castiel, what the hell?” Dean interrupted, and that got Castiel’s attention. 

“If we remain here,” the Seraph explained, “The Leviathan will attack the workshop, regardless of the consequences to their own forces.”

“They’d be stupid to try it,” Bobby grumbled.

“The Leviathan are cunning, not wise,” Castiel continued, “They will pursue us to oblivion if it means fulfilling their contract.”

“But why would we go straight to them?” Jody asked.

“Cut off the head,” Castiel said simply, clearly imploring Dean to understand his logic.  After a moment Dean’s eyes lit up in comprehension.

“And the body will flounder,” Dean completed, “Baby, you’re a genius.  It’s a suicide mission, but you’re a genius.”

“What’s a suicide mission?” Sam and Jody cried in unison.  Dean steeled himself before answering. 

“There’s only one way to get the Leviathan off our tail and protect Earth 2.0,” he declared. 

“We gotta kill Dick Roman.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to take out Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo time for a climax. I'm putting up a disclaimer here (though if you've made it this far you probably won't be surprised) for fake science. In retrospect, all scientific stuff here is totally made up. Surprise!

 

“Attention fugitives!  This is your final warning!  Reveal yourselves, or we will destroy this moon!  Hiding is not the winner’s strategy!”

“We’ll need a distraction,” Castiel mused, “Or we’ll never get to Dick without a confrontation.”

“Well,” Bobby suggested, adjusting his ragged cap, “I can think of a great big blue and green one, and we’re only one button press away.”

“Won’t they destroy it, like they did the original Earth?” Sam asked.

“Nah, they don’t have the paper work,” Bobby shrugged, “It’ll confuse the hell out of ‘em for a minute though.”

“Perfect,” Castiel concluded, Dean and Jody nodding in agreement before preparing for battle.

Dean checked his Colt as Jody released twin handguns from holsters at her waist.  When they rose unaided into formation around her Sam realized they must fall under her telekinetic connection with the _Impala’s_ weaponry.  Jody winked at Sam, mock shooting him with a gun formed from her thumb and forefinger as he heard the twin click of two safeties disengaging.

“Sam.”

From a secret pocket in his coat Dean pulled a short blade.  With a probably unnecessary flourish he offered the machete hilt first to Sam.  

“If we’re going in guns a blazin’,” Dean stipulated, “Then we gotta be armed to the last man.  No pun intended.”

The moment Sam took the handle in his overly large grip, the weapon buzzed to life, glowing with electric blue light.  _A light saber_ , he couldn’t help but think. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said.

“Hey, I gotta watch out for my little brother, right?” Dean teased, “It should cut a Leviathan down to size, at least enough to slow one down, anyways.”

“Just don’t put ‘yer eye out,” Bobby advised before opening up a new panel and inputting the groups intended coordinates, “Alright, you lot ready to fly?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Dean confirmed, “Beam us up.”

Castiel and Dean joined hands as the planet builder activated his transportation matrix.

“Thanks for everything, Bobby.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now, boy,” Bobby growled as he pulled a lever and the air around the group began to crackle with electricity and Sam’s ears were filled with a high pitched buzz, “I’m giving you a slow count of fifty, then I’m lightin’ her up.” 

Bobby’s eyes widened as the humming grew louder and at the last moment he tossed something to Dean from a nearby table.

“Almost forgot-“

 Sam strained to hear the planet builder’s words before his vision was overwhelmed and the workshop vanished.

“You’ll need more than a Seraph to kill the Big Daddy Leviathan.”

******

They rematerialized in the selfsame closet that Sam and Castiel had first encountered after leaving Earth.

“Whoa,” Castiel breathed as the storage closet emerged from the light around them.

“This looks familiar,” Sam agreed as he noted the taupe walls and a steadfast stack of crates to the group’s left.

“I don’t know what you guys are talkin’ about,” Dean said, revealing some kind of rusted gadget he had clutched to his chest, “But I think Bobby just saved our asses again.”

The group looked curiously at the weapon in Dean’s hands.  It was clearly mean to be handled as some kind of handgun, but the finer workings were definitely beyond Sam.

“So,” Jody posed, “It’s a Dick blaster?”

All three male identifying beings in the room snorted at Jody’s pun, but then Dean shook his head, setting the gun down on one of the crates and pulling out a more sophisticated version of the Swiss army knives Sam remembered from Earth.

“Right now it’s a useless hunk of metal,” Dean explained, examining the weapon with his scanner attachment, “Unless we can figure out how it’s powered.”

“If it can take out Dick,” Sam figured, “Then I’m betting it’s not double A batteries.”

“I don’t know what those are,” Dean agreed, “But I’d wager you’re right.  Hold up…shit.”

With a careful application of lever force Dean revealed a small compartment meant to hold a power source.  As soon as they caught sight of the inside wiring both Castiel and Jody joined Dean in letting out a vehement string of curses. 

“What?” Sam asked, looking at the compartment uncomprehending, “What’s wrong?”

“The only compatible power source,” Castiel informed him, rubbing his temples with a thumb and forefinger, “Is a quantum generator.”

“Is that bad?” Sam guessed, watching as Dean let his forehead fall against the surface of a nearby crate frustration.

“It woulda been fine two minutes ago in Mr. Universe’s workshop,” Jody griped, running a hand through her cropped hair, “Too bad Bobby couldn’t have thought of _that_.”

“Please,” Castiel huffed, “Bobby could hardly have tossed us one across the portal.  He could have caused a cosmic anomaly.”

“Crap, we had a whole stockpile of ‘em on the ship,” Dean cursed, tossing his knife down, “Small ones too.  Woulda worked like a charm.”

“Wait,” Sam said, remembering his first night of exploring on the _Impala_ , “What does a quantum generator look like?”

“It’s a tight, spiraled piece of polymer,” Castiel explained, “To a human retina spectrum it might appear to be brightly colored, like a rainbow.”

“Oh,” Sam commented, fishing in the deep pockets of his borrowed bathrobe until his fingers closed around a forgotten souvenir, “You mean like one of these?”

Whatever reactions Sam had been expecting from his crewmates upon revealing the novelty prize, blind panic had not been one of them.  The appearance of the small rainbow swirled slinky in his hand had caused Castiel to immediately shove Dean back from the crate they had gathered around, shielding his husband with his outspread arms as Jody covered her face and neck with her forearms as if expecting a blow. 

“Where in the blazes did you get that?” Jody asked, defensive sensors lighting up on instinct.

“I found it in one of the rooms on the _Impala_ ,” Sam answered, everyone else in the room flinching as he tossed the rainbow colored toy on the table where it landed in a loose coil.

“Dude,” Dean exclaimed, face pale, “You’ve been carrying that around in your _pocket_ this whole time?”

Sam shrugged, alarmed.  “I thought it was a toy,” he admitted, “I used to have slinkies when I was a kid.”

“Why in the hell would I keep a room full of toys on my ship?” Dean asked rhetorically.

“Why in the hell do you have a room full of _quantum generators_ on your ship?” Sam shot back.

“Enough,” Castiel interrupted, taking the generator delicately from the crate surface as Dean muttered something about colors, “No matter how we came across it, the generator means our weapon against Dick Roman will be operational.”

“What does it do?” Jody asked as Castiel delicately placed the generator in its intended socket and Dean lit up his soldering attachment.

“I dunno,” Dean grunted, fixing the dangerous power source in place before sliding shut the compartment and holding up the weapon, “but it’s got a trigger and a business end, so I’m willing to bet we point and shoot.”

“Now what?” Sam asked, looking down the glass hallway warily for Leviathan. 

“Now we wait for Bobby,” Castiel said, looking at his cell phone for the time, “Who should be activating Earth…now.”

As if on command, there was a burst of light from the very same porthole that Sam had used to wretchedly gaze upon the remains of a demolished Earth several days prior.  However, this time instead of signaling destruction the light signaled the new birth of Sam’s home planet.  He and Jody crowded the small viewing space to see the new Earth, swirling in blue, green, and white just as Sam remembered it.  Tiny pinpricks of light flickered across the continents, and Sam realized it was civilization.  He and Jody were watching the awakening of North America from the Leviathan ship. 

“There she is,” Jody breathed, peering out the porthole in awe.  Dean could only spare a second’s glance.

“It’s there for the Leviathan to look at, not for us,” he urged, “Not yet.  We need to move while they’re distracted.”

The reveal of Earth was shortly followed by the blaring of alarms all across the ship.  Disorganized voices, unusual for the Leviathan, grumbled down the hall as a multitude of the disgusting creatures converged in the portside offices.  The _Impala’s_ crew wasted no more time in vacating their storage closet through the fortuitously unlocked glass doors, scampering down the hallway before the regular workers returned to discover the intruders. 

Emerging around the corner where Sam recalled being dragged on the way to Crowley’s office they only encountered one guard, whom Castiel dispatched with little effort.  They left behind the burned remains of the Leviathan in search of Dick Roman’s office, aided by very convenient signage, easily read by intergalactic natives Dean and Castiel.  It wasn’t the first time the intrepid crew was aided by bureaucracy, and it wasn’t to be the last.  

“Through here,” Dean signaled, barging through a green lit door down a secondary hallway.  The floor under their feet had exchanged plain cement for smooth tile, and small alcoves were dotted with red plants, what Sam assumed to be the Leviathan version of a fikas.  This was the executive wing, judging by the upgraded atmosphere and private offices.  The group snuck past more than one occupied cubicle, its resident snarling out the nearest window in confusion at the unveiled planet.  At last a left turn down a long hallway revealed a set of pale wooden doors with a gold plaque and a very sophisticated lock. 

“Looks like the boss is in,” Dean quipped, eyeing the text scrolling across the access panel.

“I’ve got this one,” Jody declared, lighting up as she snapped a few screws to reveal the keypads inner workings, “With a little electroshock therapy I should be able to disarm the lock for a cycle before it self corrects.”

“Honestly,” Sam pointed out, “I’m surprised that’s the first locked door we’ve come across.”

“Don’t look a gift Land Squirrel in the mouth, Sammy,” Dean advised, “And when that door opens, be ready to run.  You and I are going in head first.”

“Hang on there, cowboy,” Jody interrupted, “You mean the _four_ of us are going in, right?”

“Wrong,” Dean corrected reluctantly as Castiel visibly tensed beside him, “You and Cas are our big guns, but you won’t do any good against Dick.  It’ll be safer for everyone if you both stay out here and hold the perimeter.”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Castiel stated adamantly, “If anything it should be you and Sam who stand guard, as Jody and I are less susceptible to injury.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good we’re gonna do if load of slime jockeys come along,” Dean argued, “I don’t wanna split up either, but this is the best way, Cas.”

“You guys talk it out and let me know,” Jody ceded, returning her focus to the lock.

“C’mon, you heard Bobby,” Dean argued, “Dick can’t get toasted like the rest of these guys.”

“I won’t let you face him alone,” Castiel implored, “I can’t lose you again.”

“I won’t be alone,” Dean insisted, “I’ll be with Sam.”

Sam wanted to argue that Castiel probably _would_ be a better choice going against the scariest Leviathan to ever slither, but if Bobby was right and Castiel’s powers wouldn’t work against Dick, than Sam guessed it wouldn’t really make that much difference.  Sam did appreciate the show of trust, though Dean seemed to have an additional motive for keeping Castiel outside, which the Seraph was just as quick to pinpoint.

“I know what you’re doing,” Castiel glowered, “And I don’t need to be protected.”

“Like hell you do,” Dean laughed, “You’re the one gonna be protecting _me_.  I need you out here where you can smite shit and make sure Sam and I don’t get stabbed in the back.”

Castiel nodded reluctantly, and Sam knew the Seraph was a good enough strategist to know Dean’s words made sense.  That didn’t keep him from one last murmured entreaty.

“I want us to be together.”  Castiel’s gravelly voice was barely audible.

“We _are_ together,” Dean assured his husband, a hand firm at the nape of Castiel’s neck, “We’ve been together every step of this journey, since I first caught sight of you across the room at that stupid Embassy reception and we’ll always be together, no matter how many doors or planets are between us.”

Castiel tried to scowl but it was a feeble effort at best.  “Don’t quote my own wedding vows back at me so you can win your argument,” he growled, kissing Dean fiercely just as Jody crowed in triumph and the lock on Roman’s office blinked green.

“Alright, we’ve got ten seconds ‘til it resets,” Jody announced urgently.

“Go!” Cas ordered, shoving Dean away as Sam spotted the first Leviathan peek suspiciously around the corner, only to recoil as Jody unleashed a phaser blast from one of her multiple suspended weapons.

“We’ll hold them off,” Jody assured the brothers, sensors fully lit as she fired another warning shot with a flick of her wrist.  Castiel stepped up beside her, energy pooling around his person like a cloak.

“We’ll hold them _all_ off,” was the last thing Sam heard as he followed Dean through the heavy wooden door of Dick Roman’s office.  Dean was still looking over his shoulder as the door slammed shut behind them with an ominous click, and Sam knew if he had turned around he would have met the burning gaze of Castiel, keeping a protective watch on Dean to the last possible second.

Despite the ominous entranceway, which Sam had found akin to the standard boss battle doors of classic Earth videogames, the office itself was very tastefully decorated.  In contrast to Crowley’s villainous, macabre sensibilities, Dick’s executive suite was decked out in pale wood, chrome and glass, with very soft grey carpeting.  Compared to the elegant décor Dean’s look of steely aggression was almost comical, and Sam found himself wondering what they used to clean their carpets, as there wasn’t a speck of black muck to be seen.  Sam’s inappropriate musings were interrupted by movement, originating from a very sleek office chair, spun to face the opposite wall.

“That was a _truly_ touching scene.”  A familiar, slimy voice emanated from the chair, in front of which Sam could see multiple views of Jody and Castiel guarding the door warily being displayed on a bank of monitors. 

“Roman,” Sam confirmed to Dean, who unsheathed Bobby’s weapon with a nod.

“And so convenient,” Dick Roman mused, slithering out from behind his desk to confront the brothers, “The last humans of Earth, and the Seraph who messed up my perfect operation, all in one place.  Here I thought I was going to have to hunt you down like roaches.”

“There’s cockroaches in space?” Sam couldn’t help but mutter out of the corner of his mouth.

“Dude, there’s cockroaches _everywhere_ ,” Dean replied, with a tone that clearly implied “this really isn’t the time”.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to quit it with the mumbling, boys,” Dick interrupted, “It really is one of my pet peeves.  Winners _enunciate_.”  With the closing of that crisp “t” the Leviathan CEO lunged at Sam, jaws snapping and slimed clogged cilia rippling as the younger Winchester dived out of the way, swinging blindly with his inexperienced blade.  Sam felt a sickening sense of triumph as his lucky first strike carved through oily flesh.  Unfortunately his swing was glancing at best, and Dick’s lack of serious injury was confirmed when the worm began to laugh. 

“I like your pluck,” Roman admitted, while Sam and Dean watched wound close over like a rubber seal in horror, “Unfortunately for you it takes more than a little steel to take out this top dog.” 

Sam threw his hands up in defense as Dick renewed his attack with a primordial screech.  Laser machete or no, Sam would have most likely lost at least one of his hands to Dick’s perpetually hungry maw had Dean not intervened at that moment, forgetting Bobby’s weapon in favor of striking out at the head Leviathan with his actual fist.  It was an essentially ineffectual blow except for its pure spontaneity, which, much like a human striking out at a great white shark in a moment of crazed desperation, succeeded in momentarily stunning Roman and allowing Sam to dodge his attack unscathed.  Dean likewise was fine except for having experienced the unpleasant sensation of submerging his hand the black, sticky mucus that coated their adversary.

“Ugh, that’s _disgusting_ ,” Dean groaned, trying to fling the clinging slime off his knuckles in revulsion.

“Dean, focus!’ Sam urged, locking Dick’s jaw with one of his own metal desk ornaments before attempting to unbalance his serpentine body with a hard kick.  The only person unbalanced by that maneuver was Sam, however, as the force of his blow served only to lodge his foot in the tar-like slime that coated the Leviathan, entrapping him. 

“Don’t touch him, he’s sticky,” Dean shouted as he struggled to engage the humorously nicknamed “dick blaster”.

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Sam responded, his snark lacking somewhat as he struggled to free his foot from his tightly laced shoe, still hopelessly adhered to Dick’s relative chest.  With a final yank Sam managed to topple away from the beast just as Roman snapped the chrome toy that had braced his jaws and Dean cried “Hit the deck!”

Sam fell flat on his back, the wind pressed from his lungs, just as Dean managed to squeeze off a round from the mysterious blaster.  The beam hit Dick square in the chest, not two inches from where Sam’s empty black shoe remained stuck fast.  For a second there was nothing but the dull thud of impact, and Sam wondered if Bobby had thrown them the wrong gadget.

“Wait for it…” Dean breathed.

“Well aren’t you just a pair of the cutest little engines that could,” Dick chuckled, a shudder running though his slimy carapace as the blast jolted through him, “This is gonna make one funny anecdote around the water cooler after-“

Dick froze as the entry wound from the blaster sparked, sharp and static.  Sam stared up from the floor, Dean stock still behind him as a heady buzz began to hum from within the Leviathan and a low breeze began to swirl around the monster businessman.  Dick’s wound began to expand, the circumference of the fissure still crackling and twirling with electricity.  It wasn’t until the gap encompassed the Leviathan altogether than Sam realized it wasn’t a wound left from dick blaster, but different kind of portal altogether.  A portal that was expanding, forming a miniature vacuum to consume Roman and anything else in the office close enough and not tied down. 

“Holy shit-“ Dean swore and Sam was blinded by a flock of loose folders, drawn from the top of Dick’s desk.  He heard the crash of another executive toy to the floor, clearing his vision of papers just in time to realize that he was being dragged forward, inch by inch across the plush carpeting to the singularity encapsulating their adversary.  Sam had fallen too close, and the void was determined to suck him in.

“Dean!”

Sam’s palms were rubbing raw as he scrambled to avoid the terrifying strength of the small black hole that was consuming Dick, contorting the Leviathan’s worm like body into impossible angles and bulbous forms.  Sam’s heart thudded in terror as his lower body was actually lifted from the floor by the gravitational pull all to the soundtrack of Roman’s agonized shrieking.  The localized whirlwind stole the sound from his ears and whipped his hair into his eyes as Sam was dragged towards the vortex that would no doubt crumble his bones like a sheet of tinfoil.  Sam was making his final desperate grab on the carpet when a solid set of arms managed to get a hold around his chest and his brother _yanked_ Sam backwards with all of his body weight.  

“I’ve got ya, little brother,” Dean grunted, tugging Sam out of the vortex’s hold.  They collapsed against the Leviathan’s desk just in time to watch the gravitational anomaly crash in on itself with Dick inside.  Roman let out one final screech before the singularity combusted, and Sam had to close his eyes against the red flash of fire as it consumed the Leviathan CEO.  

 When the brothers opened their eyes it was to an empty office, save for a pile of ash dirtying the otherwise pristine floor. 

“Interdimensional taser,” Dean spoke, surprised, tentatively poking at Dick’s remains, “That’ll work.”

Sam wiggled his one sock foot against the luxurious office carpeting.

“We did it,” Dean concluded, clapping Sam on the back with a surprised chuckle.  Sam could only think of one thing to say at that moment, relief and adrenaline coursing through his veins:

“I lost my shoe.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes to shit. Or does it?

As it turns out, “cut off the head and the body will flounder” was more metaphorical than any of the _Impala’s_ intrepid crew could have foreseen.  Sam and Dean had only stared at Dick Roman’s ashes in triumph for a few seconds when the office doors had burst open to reveal Castiel and Jody, followed by no less than three dozen _extremely_ agitated Leviathan grunts.

“Roman’s _dead_.”

“ _They killed the boss_!”

“ _Tear them apart_!”

“Fuck me,” Dean swore, tossing aside the Dick blaster and pulling his pistol from his belt.

“Later,” Castiel promised, “Right now we have bigger priorities.”

While Sam appreciated that Castiel had found the capacity for humor in such a suddenly dire situation, he hoped the Seraph could forgive him for withholding his laughter in favor of brandishing his brother’s recently gifted machete/light saber and striking out at the nearest worm, which was currently trying to get it’s jaws around his arm.   

Dean and Castiel went back to back, white light blazing from the Seraph’s palms as his husband covered his back with lethal green bolts from his trusted Colt Phaser.

“I thought we won,” Sam cursed, suit sleeve catching awkwardly as he sliced into a Leviathan.

“What,” Jody laughed, two more revolvers in her hands to match the one’s flying around her in a defensive formation, “Did you think they’d all melt?”

“It works that way on TV,” Sam grumbled, dodging a snapping bite in time for Jody to separate the beasts head from its shoulders with an expertly placed double tap. 

“I wish, kid,” Jody agreed, wiping a smear of black slime from her cheek.

The foursome were putting up an impressive show, but the Leviathan numbers knew no limits.  Sam’s chest was soon heaving, and he could see even Castiel’s attacks were becoming less steady, the white light at his fingertips starting to flicker as Dean resolutely defended him.  It was becoming depressingly apparent that they were not going to win this fight.  Jody, grey with exhaustion, still tried for a smile when she caught Sam’s eye.

“It’s okay,” she tried to reassure him, “We’ll go down swingin’.”

“You’ll go down our gullets in _pieces_ ,” a bold Leviathan rasped as the group found themselves cornered against Dick’s desk.  Sam caught Dean’s determined expression, and he resigned himself to fight to the end.

“Actually,” spoke a crisp, irritating British voice that Sam recognized vaguely, “That won’t be necessary.  You can step down boys.”  Sam looked to Dean and Cas in confusion as Crowley materialized in the middle of the crowded office, tentacles plinking the foreheads of the nearest Leviathan.

“Crowley?” Sam exclaimed, blade still raised.

“Aw, giant human,” Crowley cooed, “You remembered me.  And what a lovely robe.”  Sam flushed, covering himself self-consciously; glad that at he’d thought to borrow a pair of Dean’s pajama bottoms, at least.

“Hey, you’re the asshat who shot my husband and my _brother_ out of an airlock,” Dean snarled, as if just remembering the offense.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel demanded, eyes still ablaze. 

“Just manipulating you all into helping me take over an interplanetary corporation,” Crowley admitted, “Or did you think all those doors unlocked by themselves?  Thanks for taking out Dick, I’ll handle the rest.”

“You’re a contractor, Crowley,” One of the Leviathan spoke up, razor teeth spiraling in its jaw, “Roman or no Roman, you’re not even native.”

“And yet,” Crowley murmured gleefully, “I’m willing to bet when you check into that convenient little hive mind of yours you’ll find you’re still getting orders.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you all _to sheath your claws._ ”  Sam jumped as the horde of Leviathan moved as one, jaws snapping shut and withdrawing as blades and guns were dropped onto the plush carpeting.  He and Jody moved closer to Dean and Cas, uncertain of the strange hypnotized faces around them.  Crowley was positively glowing, his grin smug. 

“I just _love_ contracts,” he informed the group cheerfully, “Especially when they determine the genetic mandate of an entire species.”

Humans, in addition to having difficulty processing new or shocking information, have also been known to go into a trance like state after being snatched from the jaws of death by an unexpected rescuer.  As such, Crowley was mildly disappointed, but unsurprised, when instead of applause, or some other display of appreciation of his sharp wit and excellent timing, he received the shocked expressions of three humans and the beleaguered glare of one Seraph.

“Now why are we still on this ghastly ship,” Crowley asked rhetorically, “When you all have a newly refurbished planet to scamper all over?”  Pushing back his bespoke sleeve, Crowley revealed a digital device not unlike an oversize pocket watch.  With the press of a few buttons a sheath of white light enshrouded the group, not unlike the technology Naomi had used to ensnare Dean not two days ago.  Sam only had time to note the shocked Leviathan on the other side of the pod, if shocked is a facial expression the zoomorphic Leviathan were even capable of, before their surroundings vanished and the crew of the _Impala,_ plus Crowley, were transported.

When they landed Sam’s vision was spotted and his ears were ringing.  Despite his overwhelmed senses, Sam could tell when Jody dropped her weapons, tugging on Sam’s sleeve and pointing at a wide vista of green and brown surrounding them.  He shook his head to hear her shouting.

“It’s _here_.  We actually did it!”

Sam felt the stone cliffs under his feet (and groundwater soaking into his one exposed sock) and realized with a jolt that the waving green mass below them was a deciduous forest.  Trees.  Plain old green Earth trees.  They were on Earth.

“Where are we?” Dean demanded, revolver still raised at any invisible threats.  Sam realized somewhat that of all the people here, Dean was probably the only one who really thought of the landscape around them as _alien_.

“Right now, you’re in South Dakota,” Crowley informed him snidely, “Along with…”  Another series of buttons and the _Impala_ appeared next to them in the grass, looking as usual like an ordinary vehicle to the naked eye.

“Your ship,” Crowley continued, “Which you will find fully operational and unharmed despite the Leviathan crawling all over it. I even had the slime cleaned out of the upholstery.”

“What’s the catch,” Castiel wondered suspiciously. 

“Catch?  No catch,” Crowley hummed, “I wanted Dick’s job, now I have it.  You lot are some remarkably fortunate collateral.”

“So you had no idea,” Sam said skeptically.

“No more than I knew that a Seraph could survive being shot out of an airlock,” Crowley mused.  Castiel’s eyes widened as Dean’s narrowed in suspicion.

“Now, now, none of that,” Crowley insisted, activating a complicated code into his wrist screen, “You’re bumbling attempts at thanks would only upset my modest disposition.  Enjoy Earth-2, oh and since I never got the chance,” this was directed at Dean and Castiel, “Mazel tov.”

In a blur of light and a slither of tentacles, the new CEO of the Leviathans vanished from Earth’s surface.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is the second to last chapter! Tomorrow I'll be posting the ending/epilogue, (just in time to beat the actual mid-season premier ;)) But first, a little trivia contest: I chose each of Dean's outfits as a tribute to a specific rock musician/fashion icon. Sam's narrative reveals the first one, but if you guys can guess the other three in the comments, I'll post an extra Destiel prequel one shot before the week is out! I hope to see your comments and thanks so much for the encouragement! you guys are the best readers a girl could ask for.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To infinity, and beyond!

“I hate that guy,” Dean grumbled, though his scowl melted as Castiel kissed him on the cheek.  The couple embraced as Jody collapsed to the rocky soil in relief.  Sam took a deep breath of mountain air before going to clap his brother on the back.

“Dean,” he declared with a grin, “Welcome to Earth.”

“Yeah, get over here!” Jody shouted pulling Dean and Castiel in for a tight hug.  Sam laughed before Jody caught him by the collar of his now dusty robe and tugged him into the group embrace, her slight hands warm on the small of his back as Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  It was a good hug all around, very tasteful, and for once nobody attempted to make a joke or diffuse the emotional weight of the situation, which for three Humans and Seraph is a very impressive feat.

“We’re actually here,” Dean breathed, stepping back to look over the wide plains and lush forests below the cliff they stood on, “I can’t believe it.  This is where I was born.”

“Well,” Jody interrupted, “Probably not _exactly._   Any ideas where we are, Sam?”

“I think we’re in the Black Hills,” Sam observed, “I came here once, on a road trip with Dad.”

“Sounds about right,” Jody concurred, “I grew up not too far from here.”

“Whaddya think, Cas?” Dean asked, slipping an arm around his husband’s waist, “Could be a good spot for a seventh honeymoon.”

“I’ve always enjoyed Earth, and humanity,” Castiel agreed, “I know some excellent accounting firms we could visit.”

“Hey, sky’s the limit, right?” Sam joked.  Dean laughed out loud, reaching up to ruffle Sam’s hair affectionately.

“That’s the spirit, little brother,” Dean agreed.

“What are we waiting for,” Jody asked, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, “We’ve got six billion people to meet!”

Dean and Cas went to follow Jody without another thought.

“Guys,” Sam interrupted, “We can’t just run around Earth in a spaceship-“

“ _Star_ ship!”

“ _Star_ ship,” Sam corrected, “People will freak out.”

“You worry too much,” Dean laughed dragging Castiel along by the hand, “The Impala’s road ready.”

“As soon as we find a road,” Castiel amended, looking around the serene wilderness.

“That’ll be the fun part,” Jody chimed, cranking open the back door of the _Impala_ , “Come on, I know a great burger place in Sioux Falls.”

Sam shook his head before chasing after his family; all four of them cramming into the back seat of the Impala and watching the landscape around them swirl in color and matter as the Unreality Generator kicked in.

* * *

 

_One month later_

It was one thing to read it in a text book, or to hear it from a scientist, and another to be placed face to face with an undeniable truth: Earth was not the center of the Universe.  Even surrounded by the trappings of his own reborn planet, watching his brother take a brave bite of his first gas station burrito, laughing as Jody assisted a confused Castiel to try on multiple pairs of sunglasses before settling on a pair of gold aviators that had Dean’s eyes going dark and dragging his husband off to do unspeakable acts before Sam had time to caution him about the hazards of rest stop bathrooms, Sam had a keen awareness that this small, remarkable ball of dirt he once called home just wasn’t big enough anymore.

Sure, there was still plenty to see; plenty to be relieved still existed.  Dean had never seen the ocean, not the one Sam knew anyway, and then there was the Grand Canyon and the world’s biggest ball of string.  Castiel insisted on staying away from Illinois, for some reason, but Jody knew a place in Spokane that she insisted made the best apple pie on the planet and Sam had a sneaking suspicion that pie was going to rock Dean’s world.

He would show Dean Kansas, where he might have grown up, let Dean stare solemnly at their parent’s graves with Castiel by his side.  He was going to laugh at the reactions of Midwesterners to Dean’s eccentric wardrobe and fight anybody who made a face at Dean and Castiel’s sometimes overly affectionate relationship.  It would be good.  Peaceful.  But Sam knew in a few weeks the stars would start looking too attractive to pass up.  Jody would start getting antsy, her trigger finger twitchy for lack of anything to shoot at.  They’d go to Starbucks and Dean would grumble that the coffee just doesn’t _taste_ right, Castiel nodding at his mocha in mild dissatisfaction even as Jody revealed the sizable stockpile of Breakfast Blend she had just purchased to Sam with a wink.   

Eventually, knee deep in the Pacific surf, Castiel was going to wonder aloud how Balthazar was doing.  Dean would be in uncharacteristic agreement, expression eager even behind his recently acquired Ray-Bans, that really they should check on their friends, given the disarray left behind from their encounter with Naomi’s men a few weeks before.  Sam would already be packing up the remainders of their lunch as Jody pulled a shirt over her bathing suit and volunteered to do a check on the _Impala._ A final evening would be spent buying out all the Jack from a local liquor store before bunkering down at a twenty-four hour diner where Sam could eat yellow eggs and appreciate all the strangers around him that had unknowingly received a second chance at existence.  There might be a few thoughts of Jessica, of the course his life might have taken had Castiel never plucked him from the sidewalk, but a glance around the table, where Dean would be letting Cas steal French fries from his plate as he stole onion rings right back and Jody eyeing Sam knowingly as she devoured her last Earth burger for a while, would tell Sam that the family he had now, strange as it may be, had been more than worth getting shot out of an airlock or two.

At a gas station in South Dakota, Sam Winchester smiled, and waited eagerly to return to the stars.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thanks for sticking with me through this crazy journey! If you like it, let me know! Tell your friends! Tell tumblr! Anyways, this has been an adventure and I couldn't have had a better bunch of readers. 
> 
> EDIT/UPDATE: The ficlet I promised has sprung into a sequel! I'm super busy, but I'm chipping away at a whole new adventure for our favorite lovebirds and their intrepid crew! Hope to hear from you!


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